Sparrow Boy
by TheBatKid
Summary: Sparrow Boy. That's what everyone called him. Born without a name to a whore who wouldn't tell him hers, Sparrow Boy thought that he would never amount to anything. Until one fateful day, when he tries on a new hat...
1. Little Boy Sparrow

Sparrow Boy

Captain Jack Sparrow had hired whores before. He knew that they would do anything for a small bag of gold, anything he wanted and then they would disappear right afterwards, off to live a life of fulfilling sexual deeds whilst he sailed the seas in search of treasure.

At least, that's what he always told himself. He didn't care too much to know where they went after their little business transaction or what they did once he had left, which was just the way most prostitutes liked it. Who cared where Captain Jack Sparrow sailed to? Who cared if he would ever return? They had their gold and enough memories to serve them a lifetime – without the headache of seeing the man again, they saw it as a lovely change from servicing some of the higher class men.

That was until one gave birth to a little boy. He had deep chocolate eyes and raven black hair, born with the tanned skin of a familiar Pirate that the woman never wanted to remember. She had made a vow that fateful night; her son wouldn't ever know her name for the crime that was his father, and he would be forced to walk the streets with no name himself. She wouldn't be the mother to a Sparrow Boy. She would have rather died than carry the shame that was her first born son.

And so the boy had lived with that burden on his shoulders, although it didn't work quite the way she had hoped. His glaring resemblance to his father made certain that the child had a nickname, one that was ever present through his years as an apprentice blacksmith and the later days of his prison escapades.

"What's up, Sparrow Boy?"

"How's the life of a whoreson, Sparrow Boy?"

"Your Mum told you her name yet, Sparrow Boy?"

The nickname was a source of great shame for him. As he brushed the dreadlocked black hair out of his eyes, trying to focus on his latest anvil work whilst the jokers continued their tirades. He didn't care about the fact his mother was a whore or that she had never revealed her name to him – in fact, he could care less about the She-Devil that he called a mother – but it was the idea that his father was a pirate that made him furious, as it was his own dream to sail the seven seas.

With a shaking hand he clasped his hammer, his eyes fixated on the sword in front of him. Did he care enough to finish that piece? The Blacksmith had often told him about his talent, about his natural born ability to create a pure masterpiece from the molten metal, yet he couldn't bring himself to believe such words. They were too nice. And he wasn't from a place that was nice, far from it.

"That young lad escaped from prison again," a man with a huge, thick beard sighed as he washed his greasy hands clean, the greying brown strands like a matted dog rather than the features of a world renowned smithy, "What's his name, Hank?"

"Hank Dodge; my friend," Sparrow Boy turned his deep brown eyes to look at his mentor, "How's he managed it this time?"

"Yer do well to keep your nose out of that business laddy. Yer far too good at ya job for the likes of Dodge," he smiled warmly down at him before he brought a hand on his shoulder. The Blacksmith had been his only father figure for all the nine years of his life and, even though Sparrow Boy knew that he couldn't belong to someone so noble, he kept his mind on the fact that man had shown him everything he knew.

"He's nice enough to me and keeps the gold flowing, so there's not much I can do about how he does it."

"Yer not judgemental 'bout people, are ya?" again that warm smile enveloped the boy for a moment, but soon he found himself getting on with his work. The hot embers hissed unappreciatively as he pulled more metal from them, causing him to sweat profusely as he thought about life outside the Blacksmiths.

Suddenly, there was a shout outside their shop. With terrifying strength the boy threw his burden to the side, his limber frame leaping over the anvil as he ripped open the door, its thin wooden form like an origami piece rather than an entrance to a highly reputable shop. Smog from the downtown area filled the air whilst his sharp eyes scanned the area, alive with the filth of a local brothel and whatever limped away from the prison courtyard.

Sparrow Boy spied a fight happening by the old library building, closed down to make way for an incomplete hospital. The policemen were beating the suspect down to the cobbled ground almost viciously, though he had seen many times were they were duly crueller.

"What's going on here then?" the Blacksmith pushed him to the side with a great sweep of his calloused hand, stepping into the forever-night street like he owned it, "What do ya think ya doing with that little 'un?" another sweep pushed the policemen out of his way long enough for him to pick up the suspect – a young, rough looking urchin that Sparrow Boy recognised as Hank Dodge, his friend and ill-favoured business partner that somehow managed to make payments.

His face was sunken and pale, a direct effect of his poorly balanced prison meals, and his thin blonde hair had become slightly dirtier after his police scuffle. The torn clothes he wore were encrusted with mud whilst his old hat seemed to have been stolen from some pirate; likely a Jack Sparrow impersonator, judging by its hideous similarity.

"He's a thief, plain and simple. Here to put him back where he belongs."

"Alright, alright, listen here – you ain't touching this kid again until I see hard proof he's what you say he is, yeah?" as he spoke, the Blacksmith waved Dodge over to his friend, like he wanted to protect the boy rather than make him learn his lesson, "Come visit the shop when you've got ya warrants and we'll talk about it then. Til that happens, you ain't laying another finger on this kid."

They were having a discussion when Sparrow Boy decided to close the door, certain that the Blacksmith wouldn't mind his return to work whilst Dodge took his place beside the anvil. He often came to visit his friend at the shop – it was a nice deviation from his life of hardship and thievery, though he wouldn't admit that he wanted such a skill for himself. Blacksmithing wasn't a trade he was known for. He would be damned if it became one.

"How'd you manage it this time?" Sparrow Boy mused as he brushed his locks out of his eyes, fixated upon his work like it meant everything to him.

"They've not fixed the shaky bar. I was able to make my way out easy, just like last time."

"You'll get yourself killed one day."

"Says the boy that wants to be a pirate, just like his dad!" an insufferable smile stretched across Hank's face, "Damn, what I'd give to be in your spot. Imagine; Captain Jack Sparrow being your dad!"

"He's not my dad!" the boy protested though his friend quickly continued.

"I don't know why your mum's such a bitch about it. I mean, there's lots of women that want to sleep with him, but she actually got to do it! And she got you!" another smile danced on his face, "Then again, not many want you in return for it."

Embarrassment burned through Sparrow Boy's face, "Shut up Dodge."

Quiet descended in the Blacksmiths for a while, even after the mentor had arrived and taken up his previous stance of eating. Shining silver buttons glinted off the embers as Sparrow Boy worked, his friend watching as he normally did when he wasn't in prison, his mind fixated on his art rather than thoughts of his Hell-spawned father. It wasn't until the night actually descended that someone made movement.

"I best be off home to my family, kids," the Blacksmith announced as he grabbed his coat from the hook, a rusted old thing that he'd fitted in his youth, "You gonna stay here tonight?"

"Nah, I've got my mum making dinner tonight – cabbage soup!" Dodge jumped from his tree stump-like seat with the same vigour of a boy going back home to his puppy, though he quickly stopped to thrust his hat on Sparrow Boy's head. "There; exactly like Captain Jack!"

Inane giggles sounded as both of them exited the darkening room. With a sigh the boy went about lighting candles, hoping that the low visibility wouldn't diminish his sword's quality and that he would be able to get through his work. It was then that he caught sight of himself in the mirror.

Deep brown eyes met deep brown eyes as he gazed at his reflection, the dreadlocked hair he tried to play down like a tangle of snakes on his head. He saw the pirate-style white shirt that his mother had bothered to sew together for him, claiming that he could look like complete rubbish if he came from complete rubbish, whilst his black trousers and boots were pretty much standard issue for the other little urchins around him. He looked fairly normal…other than the hat on his head. That made the transformation complete.

Sparrow Boy wasn't a fatherless nine year old living with his virginal mother – he was a whoreson, the direct descendant of a pirate that many had heard of yet none liked to talk about. And with that hat, he looked exactly like him.

"For God's sake," he muttered under his breath, "I'll never get rid of this nightmare."


	2. Gallows

Sparrow Boy spent the rest of the night in his Blacksmiths. He diligently worked on his new sword without so much as a complaint, the hat atop his head as if he had been born with it. There was a quiver on his lips whilst he worked – his whore of a mother hadn't come to see him or berate him, which she normally did if he didn't come home with his regular sack of gold. It was the payment for her tolerance of him.

When he eventually made his way out of the shop at Dawn, hoping that the police wouldn't see him and ask him for details on Dodge, there was an unmistakable quiet in the air. There were no beggars in the closed down shops' doors, or homeless Holy men that would usually wander the streets until the local church opened. A distinct lack of despair was present in the smoggy, fogged oxygen around him; chills set along his spine as he wandered the cobbled roads, his mind on where everyone could have gone and why there weren't even some homeless asking him for gold.

_They're probably in the tavern ogling Windesa, _he thought bitterly to himself, as Windesa had been a babysitter for him at one time. Well, he said babysitter when he really meant unofficial mother, since she had quickly taken on his feeds and daily duties during his she-devil's neglect. When he had become a bit older and more equipped to deal with himself, they had drifted apart.

"Kill her! Kill her!" the shouts pulled Sparrow Boy from his thoughts, his limber frame pushed to the side as a group of rowdy drunks stormed through the street, "She's a whore, she's the Devil! Kill her! Kill her!" his interests peaked whilst he watched their staggering, even though he found them to be the most pathetic of life-forms.

He had heard that his father was a drunk. Most pirates were.

"What's going on?" he managed to squeal above the din of noise, mostly to the young urchin that also travelled with the drunks. The girl turned her dirty features to gaze at him, her eyes sympathetic despite the situation she found herself in, before a sigh passed her thinly chapped lips.

"It's your mum, Sparrow Boy," her voice was small compared to the men around her, "She's been convicted of witchcraft. Happened last night, when you weren't home. They stormed in and…and they say she's got to be hanged for her crimes." How she knew all those grim details the boy didn't know, though he felt a sudden stone form in the pit of his stomach. Witchcraft? His mother? She wasn't even a very good cook, and that was putting it nicely. How could they think that she conjured potions or went about the advanced alchemy to cast such spells?

"Where is she?"

"The gallows. She'll be hanged in two…three minutes? That's why we've got to-" whatever she said was cut off abruptly since, with an intimidation that verged on terrifying, what Sparrow Boy could only assume to be her father pulled her arm, forcing her to walk the cobbled pathways with them as dawn broke on the horizon. He could hardly feel the warm rays of sunlight as they caressed his tanned cheeks.

_Mother…_

Quickly he rushed towards the gallows-place, a simple clearing that had been specially allocated to such rituals. Huge crowds of homeless, the wicked and the unjust pooled into the dusty space just below a poorly-crafted wooden stand, where there stood a blonde haired woman with her whorish clothes on. Laced dress, bone-crushing corset, the boots that went all the way up to her thighs and disappeared under a barely visible skirt…

What a source of honour for a boy with no name.

"Miss Geneva Horde; you stand before these fine people accused of witchcraft. In accordance with your heinous crimes and your consorting with the Devil, you have been sentenced to hanging. Any last words?" the fat man beside her announced with a sense of pride in his voice, like he enjoyed sending a young mother to her death rather than granting her a fair trial. It was so much easier. It was a massive crowd pleaser.

Her piercing blue eyes stared down at the people in front of her. Sparrow Boy could almost hear her heart racing as she spied each person in the crowd, picking out the ones she had 'consorted' with and wondering if they would find their place in Hell like her, before they finally clipped on to her one source of shame. Her one little mistake that she made on a drunken night of work, forced to care for him despite the fact she wanted him dead. He gazed back in her eyes with those same thoughts in his head, his arms crossed over his dirty shirt's chest whilst he waited for her words.

"I've only made one mistake in my life; I've only got one sin to my name!" she admitted with a voice as cold as ice, the sort that could make babies cry if they heard it uttered, "That Hell-spawn I gave birth to – you! Your father is nothing but a cowardly pirate and you'll be the same!" every eye turned towards Sparrow Boy who, with the hat so still atop his head and a look of complete indifference on his face, looked the stark resemblance of his absent father.

Everyone held their breath for a moment. With one hand the boy brought that tension to its height, raised above his head as though he were in charge of the elements, "That's all? Fine then; you can kill her now." His voice was deep, low, like he had been waiting for that moment every second of his life and didn't want it to end. Fear glazed in his mother's eyes – Miss Geneva, as he had heard – before the executioner pulled a lever beside him, effectively cutting off all sight that the boy had to her. People gasped.

Sparrow Boy smiled.

"Get the boy," the powdered wig politician said as he waved his hands to the police, his face the picture of aloofness when he did so, "We'll need to put him on trial for being Satan's child. Quickly now."

He felt his arms suddenly clutched by the men around him, kicking his feet out as though he could break free of their iron grips. With startled eyes he looked up at his mother, her own feet still as the last ounce of breath left her lips, her eyes glazed whilst she tried to fight off death.

"You're next, Sparrow Boy."


	3. The Cannon Fire

The cells were dirty. Sparrow Boy could hardly breathe through the foul stench of death in the air, his boyish lungs choked with what seemed like tar as he tried to take in his surroundings. Not an hour ago he had been slaving away in the Blacksmiths, working the iron so that he could produce a new blade and later present it to its lucky owner; now he sat in the seat of all resentment, the place where the unjust and wicked came before they were called to their ends, which Sparrow Boy knew would include him if he didn't get out.

"Oh dead man walking, dead man walking!" the guards called whilst they led out a fresh new face to the prison, although he couldn't tell whether it was someone he knew or not, "Dead man walking! Dead man walking!" with one tired eye he looked up to see Hank, yet he didn't seem the same as he had a few hours ago.

Crying, sobbing and weeping for his mother, that Dodge wasn't someone Sparrow Boy knew. Instead he was a child, that tender child that had been birthed about eleven years beforehand, soft and vulnerable despite the long list of crimes under his belt.

"What's wrong? What's going on, Dodge?" he found himself calling. The guard looked up sharply to glare into his dingy cell, the one with a faint glow of moonlight to it and Sparrow Boy's quivering form.

"She's dead! They killed her!" was the harsh reply before Hank was officially out of the picture, quite possibly inside another cell to ride out the rest of his grief. Who was he talking about? The dark crested child thought that it could have probably been mourning for his mother, who could have been snatched up during those incessant witch-hunts. Such superstitious locals. They weren't in the right place for witches.

Ages passed. Sparrow Boy kept his mind occupied with a small game of dust-circles, using an old twig he had found to draw whimsical patterns in the dirt underneath him. The solid bench felt like a splintered plank on his behind but, since he couldn't imagine any better bed than that, he found himself falling under the sweet spell of sleep.

"MAN THE GATES!" the cry was far off. He didn't pay it any heed at first, his mind fixated on the fact he hadn't finished his masterpiece.

"HOLD FAST! THEY'RE COMING IN FOR THE ATTACK!" a sudden shriek of cannonballs pulled the boy from his trance. Like a frightened child he jumped back from the barred windows, his face a tight frown before he leapt forward to spy what was happening. What he saw wasn't what he expected.

A ship sat in port, firing cannonballs from its hull as though it were attacking the great Kraken. He leaned forward to see a few of its victims already fleeing, some without their children and others hauling their entire livelihoods behind them. Guards rushed past his cell to try and contain the problem. He smirked.

They wouldn't come back – it was a pirate attack. The way Sparrow had heard it, not many people ever returned from an attack like that and, if they did, it was usually without their limbs. Barbosa was a pirate that the child had looked up to for some time; perhaps it was him that led the attack on the docks right then, and he was doing it because he knew how unjust and filthy rich those politicians were.

"It's the end of the world, boy," some man in the next cell over said, the one with a single eye in his socket and a face whipped by dirt, "Time for the pirates to come pillage, rape and steal our whole livelihoods. It's a good thing yer mum's dead now." He shot him a look of gratitude since he knew the words were supposed to comfort him, though he didn't much care that his mother had died. If anything, it meant that he could at least get through his life without a regret.

Suddenly, a cannonball dived straight towards them. With ease he jumped to the other side of his cell, evading the resultant crash that killed two prisoners and rid the man beside him of his remaining eye, before he quickly saw an opportunity to escape. He slipped through the jagged hole into the madness below; the screaming, begging and crying people who were flooding through that dingy little street, their hands burdened with whatever children they chose to save.

"Sparrow Boy!" he barely registered his name as it was said, instead choosing to climb above the buildings so he could finally see what was going on. It was a good thing he had taught himself how to climb; without that extra skill under his belt, it would have been harder for him to land an apprenticeship.

The world was in turmoil. Places that he had visited were on fire, the families that hid within them either burnt to a crisp or escaping through hidden exits, whilst the rest of the town was suddenly swamped by the floods of the sea. Filthy, toothless pirates wielding weapons they seemed to have been born with – it sickened Sparrow Boy that some pirates presented themselves that way, when he knew that he would work to give his crew a good name and a decent image. One to be feared.

"Keep looking for the kid!" he heard one scream above the din, "It's supposed to be around here; Captain Jack Sparrow's boy will be great leverage for the pearl!"

"I'm sorry, I'm quite certain I've told you I have no children," another voice drifted as the noise surrounded them, scarcely audible if it weren't for Sparrow Boy's practice, "You can't use a non-existent child as leverage against me, mate."

It was then that Sparrow Boy clapped eyes onto him. Like a larger version of himself, he couldn't tell if he was a reflection or the actual pirate that he'd heard so much about, granted what he had heard wasn't that good.

"We'll see about that," cold, beady eyes clapped on Sparrow Boy. He froze, still as statue whilst the pirate seemed to have a grin stretch across his meaty face, worn by a thousand scars and dirty like the underside of an undertaker's boot. "Ah, there. See him?"

The dreadlocked man behind him looked up from his spot, handcuffed as he had been from the moment he stepped off the boat. His deep maroon eyes went wide suddenly, his mouth dry as he choked out his only competent reply, "Who the Hell is that?!"

Sparrow Boy sighed. His day was only going to get worse.


	4. WaterWay

Sparrow Boy couldn't tell what God wanted him dead. He had traded his earlier cell for a considerably smaller, dirtier one, locked in irons rather than allowed to wander free and facing a man that he never wanted to see in his life. A growl passed his lips as he caught his eyesight, struggling against his restraints like he could break out of them.

"So…" Jack looked up at him with a glint in his eyes, his goatee neatly combed and his dreadlocks set into place, "What's your name?" the simplicity of his question made Sparrow Boy freeze. He couldn't think for a moment, couldn't put anything in his mind except the unrealistic rage he felt, before finally a chuckle escaped his lips.

This giggle rang through the wooden cage they found themselves in, as though it could rattle the iron bars that kept them secure, "I don't have one."

"Every kid's got a name. What's yours? Don't be shy, mate."

Sparrow Boy's eyes connected with his father's; the man he despised and, on some levels, felt as though he needed to feel comforted by, since the recent death of his mother and capture from the pirates were some causes for bereavement.

"Well, I don't have one," he finally growled, "That she-bitch didn't give me one. She said I didn't need one. Funnily enough, I haven't found that it hurts my work."

Jack felt like he wanted to hug the child. He saw his own boyhood reflected in those deep brown eyes, the being birthed into something that he couldn't decide and wouldn't have a choice upon, whilst his dreadlocked hair and face structure were strikingly similar to his own. That boy – that child he didn't know existed was his son, and he didn't quite know how he felt about it.

Still, he felt compelled to talk to him, "You're alert."

"What are you talking about?" Sparrow Boy chewed his bottom lip, irritation sparking in his eyes. The pirate thought he had confused him for a moment and, quite possibly, had opened up a pathway for conversation, though he tread lightly over his next words.

"You remind me of a young me," he explained carefully, "Not easy to pass something over, quick to make decisions. When those pirates were clapping you up, you didn't look too bothered about it."

The boy shifted uncomfortably on his rickety chair. "I've been in handcuffs before. I can get out of them."

"A skill learnt by the most legendary pirates."

"I'm not a pirate," he lowered his eyes to stare at the floor, splintered and worn by the weight of a thousand feet, "I couldn't be a pirate if I wanted to."

"That's a lie!" Jack had been fiddling with his chains for a while, so much so that his calloused hands and thickened wrists had become sliced by the iron, "If you're a Sparrow – and you are, if I've ever seen one – you've got a long heritage of Pirate in your blood. Whether you like it or not, mate, you're a pirate inside, and a pirate inside is a pirate outside."

Without warning, his hands suddenly became free from his restraints. They clattered to the floor with a loud clang, smashing so solidly that Sparrow boy was sure the guards would hear or, at least, someone would come running to check what they were up to. Both held their breath. No one came.

"Hm, amazing guards they've got on this ship," the boy commented as Jack unlocked his chains, "Someone's told me that pirates were nothing but pillaging, reckless marauders; seems they're none too bright, either."

"You watch your mouth about your old dad, boy."

He wanted to say something but as soon as he had formed a decent comeback, the chains clattered to the floor and Jack was pulling him away. With the ease of a slippery fingered thief, he quickly unlocked the rusted mechanism of those irons bars, his fingers clasped around the boy's upper forearm whilst they walked through the foul smelling corridors.

So they were mindful of the other pirates who so far, Sparrow Boy hadn't seen. The cool sea breeze stroked his cheeks when they finally found the way out, his father like a prowling cat as he pushed aside the boards and scanned the area outside. His smile was familiar. Disturbingly so.

"Alright, follow me," he whispered quietly whilst the boy scampered out behind him, a scale replica of the man in front of him. Somewhere in that scene was an adorable father's day card, the sort that showed each little boy wanted to be exactly like his daddy.

"Stop right there." They froze. Noisily Jack gulped in front of him, something that told Sparrow Boy they had been found out and his idiotic parent hadn't formed a backup plan.

_Living like a pirate doesn't seem much fun, _he thought as they slowly turned, a protective hand on his head and a thumping heart in his chest. They came face to face with their captor – a foul smelling, dirty mouthed man who had more wrinkles than teeth, rotted and yellow like the interior of his brain. Everything in his face spelt uneducated – or rather, tried to spell uneducated – whilst his clothes had the stink of poverty about them, choking the boy that stood about head height with his belt buckle and making his father look even more worried.

Worried, but not afraid.

"Ah, Barbosa," he greeted with that cheery voice, cocky despite the barrel in his face, "It's been a while."

"Too long."

"Well, I'm sure we'd both love to stay and catch up but, well, my boy and me are-"

"Ah yes; the little one that me resources told me about," the pirate gave him a gummy smile, unnerving and bittersweet, "Yer a tricky one to track down, boy. It took me months and a fair bit of bribes, but I knew Jack had a son somewhere."

"You've got to keep looking," the boy's nonchalant reply surprised both men present, their eyes going wide as he gazed up them, relaxed, "I'm not his son. I'm the son of some merchant with coin enough to buy my mother, do you understand me?" there was a note of silence. Jack looked down at the boy who resembled him so much, the nine year old he hadn't known existed and for some reason, felt so attached to, as he denied being even remotely related to him. It wasn't possible for that venom to be in his voice.

But Sparrow Boy had spewed enough of it.

"Oh, really now?" Barbosa approached him menacingly, his boots creaking on the squeaky floorboards and leaky fixtures, "Ye say that yer nothing to do with Jack here, but ye look exactly like him. Yer sure?" the hot breath ruffled Sparrow Boy's locks as he leaned forward, so foul that he thought he had died and gone straight to Hell.

He leaned back, crashing into his father when he did so. Jack's fingers clasped around his son's shoulders as if he were protecting him, though soon enough he released him. He couldn't show Barbosa weakness. It would mean two deaths; him, and the son he never knew he had.

"Do you mind stepping back?" the words slipped out of his mouth almost independently. Barbosa's eyes burned with rage whilst he continued to glare for a moment, wondering whether or not it was worth slicing the boy's head off and using Jack as leverage for the pearl, before he finally laughed and turned from the pair. That day couldn't have been stranger if Davy Jones himself arrived.

"Ye be a little termite, just like yer father," he deduced as he stalked towards the steering wheel, "But ya can't leave this boat til I get what I came for. Jack owes me a boat and, since I ain't got it yet, both of ya can stay under deck til I do."

It was Jack who made the next move. With swift gestures he turned to the mast behind him, grabbing the ropes and pulling it so that the sails fell. The action caused Barbosa to look up momentarily and gave Sparrow Boy the opportunity to bolt forward, his hands gripped upon a stray mop which he used to jab into the man's stomach.

Barbosa staggered back, winded from the brutal attack as Sparrow Boy jumped towards the nearest boat. The winded pirate couldn't even regain his breath before Jack was in after the boy, tugging at the ropes to make them crash into the sea.

"And you will forever remember this as the day you _almost _caught Captain Jack Sparrow!"

Sparrow Boy was left rowing, even though he hadn't quite done it before. He had lessons of course, little formalities that the Blacksmith had gone through with him to make sure he could get himself out of trouble, but whatever lesson he learnt wasn't enough to prepare him. His eyes burned, his biceps throbbed and his nostrils flared in his desperate attempt for air; the boy looked like he had just done several rounds with a cage fighter rather than rowing a boat, bobbing leisurely on the gentle current whilst his father gazed up at the boat they left. Barbosa's words rang out but Sparrow Boy didn't hear them.

The silence between them was deafening. He didn't want to break it, getting used to the fact his relatively quiet life was officially over and he was now on a fast-track to manhood. Well, what he perceived to be manhood.

Jack wasn't so settled though, "You've got some skill on a boat."

Sparrow Boy shrugged in reply.

"Been on one before?"

He shook his head.

"Oh. I could've sworn…well, guess all Sparrow boys are born with water sense."

The child tensed, hearing his God forsaken nickname for the first time on his father's lips. It felt…wrong, and right at the same time. It felt as though Jack needed to call him that, like something had been let go within the child and he could finally face reality as a whole, when in reality he was simply getting used to the idea of his father knowing he existed. It wasn't everyday a self-proclaimed orphan met his parent.

"What's up, mate?" Jack's eyes flickered with concern for a moment as he gazed at his young boy, "You're safe now."

"Hmph, and what is safe? Sitting in a rowboat with a man half the world want dead? Being a Blacksmith apprentice whose father is a pirate? Having a mother who didn't even care enough to give me a name, wondering what the Hell hers was while I slaved away trying to make enough money to feed myself…" his voice faltered as he remembered those days. Those uncertain, furious times in which he tried to survive just another night more, the hope in his heart that one day his mother would see her son and not his father.

Jack noticed the desperation in his voice. Like a sharp-eyed eagle he saw the tear in his son's eyes, the pain that came with nine years of verbal abuse and neglect, his thoughts quite possibly wondering why it was his life with that madness and not the duty of some other, more suited candidate.

"What's your name?" he asked softly, at a loss for other words. The child looked up at him with that insufferable tear in his eye, hoping to himself that it was unnoticeable as he fixed the Captain with a hardened stare.

"They called me Sparrow Boy."


	5. The Island

Sparrow Boy looked up at his father. Their boat's broken carcass lay rotting at the end of the beach, festering with all sorts of crabs and leeches that Jack had unsuspectingly poured inside. It was a wonder he wasn't dead on his feet.

"I think that was a successful voyage," the pirate said cheerfully, perhaps trying to make the best out of a bad situation. His son's deep brown eyes glared at him despairingly, like he couldn't understand how he had been born from such a ridiculous, sorry excuse for a man.

"You haven't had many successful voyages, have you?"

The words could have been funny if they were uttered from another person, but Jack felt a certain sense of shame since they came from his son. He shouldn't have cared, shouldn't have minded that Sparrow Boy didn't have a high opinion of him but, for some reason, he cared more about that child's thoughts than he did his own father's. And he hadn't known this kid for more than a few hours!"

Sunlight burned on their back as they wandered up the beach. The silence was maddening to Sparrow Boy when he glanced at the never ending golden stretch, the shingle only broken by the forest growing at the other side and the vast stretch of ocean at the other, although he didn't pay too much attention to that. He had decided that he hated the ocean. It only meant death or tiring journeys, and both of them didn't make him want to hop in a boat.

"I've had enough of water," he eventually broke the silence, aware that his father's eyes had been boring into him, "When we get back to my home, I'm just going to stay in the Blacksmiths and never come out again."

Jack's breath hitched. Instantly he stopped moving, as though something within him had stirred and he wanted to take a moment to ponder on it, before he finally started to explain why he had paused. Sparrow Boy didn't think he cared. It turns out he did.

"Well, that might be a bit of a problem mate. You see, what with your apparent affiliation with me and therefore, your affiliation with all the pirates I'm indebted to, we might be making each other's acquaintance for quite some time."

Sparrow Boy's heartbeat quickened. Like a boy possessed he wrung his hands, working the new information over in his head as he began to comprehend – think, for the first time – that he would never see his home again, and he would never be able to speak to his beloved Blacksmith again. It wasn't what Jack had said but he knew, deep down, that it was what he meant.

"Why?" was all he managed to choke out, in a voice so small that his father had to work out what he'd said.

"Why?"

"Why did you…have to come back?" the glaring pain in Sparrow Boy's eyes was new to Jack – he didn't see that calm collected child that he had taken as the boy's only personality but, rather, he saw a broken, fragile little thing in front of him, the same thing that babies were made out of and what formed a mourning widow's tears.

"That wasn't my choice. Barbosa-"

"You slept with her. You made me, and then…then you went and got yourself in trouble. Again. I wouldn't care if it was just you, _Captain,_ but that was my life! That was my home!" he charged forward, surprising the man with hands to his throat and a tightening grip, "I'm not a pirate! I'm not a Sparrow Boy and I sure as Hell am not your son! You're nothing to me but the guy who bought my mother!" his fingers were squeezing the airway – Jack couldn't breathe, but he daren't grip the offending hands. He saw the furious, chaotic gaze that sat within those deep brown depths, the exact same shade of his and so similar that he thought he was looking in the water.

But his instincts kicked in before he could stop them. Jack gripped the fingers when his thoughts went into overdrive, gripping the frail arms and throwing the little body away as if it were nothing but tissue paper, causing Sparrow Boy to find himself on an uncomfortable mound of shingle. His victim was spluttering for air as it was suddenly given to him, his eyes fixated on the boy he never knew he had whilst he fell to the ground.

Moments passed. They stared at each other, unsure of what to say and do, unsure if they would even bother travelling together and shouldn't have just separated. Jack didn't have any connection with that boy. No matter what blood flowed through his veins, he was still a whoreson, and he wasn't even a particularly good one at that. He didn't rob his mother's customers like most and he didn't even seem to care that his father was a famous pirate. He just wanted to be a Blacksmith. Just a Blacksmith.

Just like Will.

It was Sparrow Boy who moved first. He made a quick gesture towards the forest, as though he were about to make a break for it and leave his technical father alone, but Jack was too quick for him. He grabbed his arm without hesitation, his grip so tight that it felt similar to a vice whilst his eyes bore into the child's.

"You ain't going anywhere, mate."

"Let go of me!" he spat in reply. The struggles were futile against his father, whose hand was still clasped tightly around him.

"I don't care what you want to think or what you want to believe; unfortunately, Sparrow Boy, you and me are one of the same, and that puts you in danger. Doesn't matter what end of the spectrum you look at it, it's all the same."

"You can't be telling me that you-"

"As your father as of twenty hours ago, you will be accompanying me through the vast unknown of this island. Until I think that Barbosa isn't after us – or, at least, someone's killed him – you won't be out of my sight."

That was when Jack let go of his boy. He half expected him to bolt and make the man chase after him, but instead he just seemed lost. The frightened eyes looked into his father's for a moment before, without warning, he fell on his knees, looking so deeply at him that Jack thought he would turn to salt. His next words were chilling.

"Why do you care?"

Jack just blinked at him.

"Why?" the boy's hands clasped his wrists almost absent-mindedly, "Why now? You could just let me go; I could disappear now Jack, and that'd be the end of it. We'd never have to see each other again." The sheer desperation in his voice was almost enough to make him say yes, but he knew better. He knew that Sparrow Boy wasn't going to be safe unless he was with him, where he could keep an eye on him.

And he didn't want to hear from Barbosa that, after Jack had allowed his only son to wander into the big wide world alone, he had been found and killed. In impossible, cruel, disgusting ways.

So he found the words to convey his thoughts, "You're my son. Might not mean a lot to you and, truthfully, it shouldn't mean a lot to me, but I'm not letting you wander off when Barbosa knows about you. We're Sparrows."

"You're a Sparrow."

"Hmph," he smiled through the drapes of dreadlocked hair, "And you're Sparrow Junior."


	6. Sleep Little Sparrow Boy

The night descended quickly after that, and Jack took it upon himself to build a fire. His son watched him without question, content to sit back on the frozen wasteland of a beach whilst the pirate struggled with his burden, not bothering to help as he didn't see any reason why he should.

His father was only worried for his warmth. Sparrow Boy hadn't been able to collect some decent winter clothes; instead, he wore a set of thin, cotton like garments that had been fashioned to withstand the heat of a Blacksmith's workshop, crafted with gloves that he hadn't brought with him and were probably awaiting his return back home. A pang went off in his heart – how could he have stolen the child away from that place, when it was so clear he was making a life for himself there?

"You better get closer to the forest. It's warmer." His good natured advice was met with a cold stare. There wasn't much love in the glare, something that Jack had become used to what with his constant consorting with prostitutes or his needless spending on things that he couldn't really afford, but it cut him deeper than any sword could hope to.

"I'm fine here," Sparrow Boy eventually replied, his voice frozen with the bitter memory of his loss, "Just concentrate on making the fire. Wouldn't want you to freeze to death." His words were so acid that it was clear that was all he wanted him to do, but whether he was too polite or too tired to say so was another matter entirely.

Stars twinkled in the night sky. He looked up at them without thinking at first, wondering if his mother was up there or if she was rightfully burning in Hell, before he remembered that he had once heard the stars would light his way home. It was a fleeting thought; a memory within a memory, the day he had been told that he would be faced with obstacles that would assure his place in the world.

Jack couldn't tell what his boy was thinking but damn it, if he wasn't curious, "What do you want to eat, kid? I'm sure there are crabs or fish on shore."

"I'm not hungry."

"Really now? When did you last eat?"

The child's deep brown eyes glared at him through the darkness, "That's none of your business. Just leave me alone." Again he turned his gaze towards the starlight, twinkling so far away and yet making him feel so safe beneath them, like none of that had happened and he would soon wake up in the Blacksmiths. He prayed he would one day lay eyes on him again.

But sometimes, life just had to let people down.

"You've ruined my life, you know."

"Yeah, I get that a lot. Don't think you're a special case."

"Oh, but I am special, aren't I – not many of your victims actually get to travel with you after," Sparrow Boy fixed him with another icy gaze, but that one more deadly than the bite of a King Cobra, "You'd just leave them for dead normally, wouldn't you? Captain Jack Sparrow doesn't look out for anyone except himself!" even though it was true and, normally, Jack wouldn't care about it, there was a certain hint of shame caught in his son's words. He didn't know him from Adam. For all that boy knew, Jack could have been a changed man by then, Hell-bent on righting his wrongs before the ticker in his chest gave out.

"You are special. I don't know why yet, but you're special to me," he whispered under his breath, not loud enough for the boy to hear him.

Hours passed in silence. Sparrow Boy soon felt his eyelids drooping under the weight of his exhaustion, falling into place as he imagined his warm bed at home. It was made out of collected bird feathers and an old sheet he had once liberated from a horrible miser's bedroom, the pillows little more than soft sponge that he'd collected from the seabed and given a better use; it took months for him to make perfect and, so far, he had slept in it so little that he could count the times on his hands. The thought of it now sent him slowly to sleep, easing him from that nightmarish reality that he found himself in.

Jack heard his snores sometime after the fire had begun dancing away, crackling over his slumbering noises whilst the cold sea breeze brushed over them. Without a word he got up from his place, his hands fumbling with his coat as he uncloaked himself and angled it over the boy's body. He took a moment to stare at his face – so similar to his, so perfectly symmetrical that they could have been one another's reflections rather than two separate beings.

Then he draped the coat over him and ambled back to his place. He was cold now, but it didn't matter; his son was warm and, considering the circumstances they had met, it was the least he could do. Assuring the boy's health was one of his top priorities.

He didn't know why, but it was.

"Well, I guess that means I'm actually responsible for you now," he talked both to Sparrow Boy and himself though, mostly to himself, "That's...terrifying, actually. I've not been responsible for anything before. Well, there was that cactus plant I grew a few years ago. It died. I'm not good at gardening."

A snort escaped from the child's throat. He wasn't listening but it was well timed, since it instantly made Jack fall silent until he was sure he had fallen back to sleep. He fixed him with a gentle stare, wondering how he could have made a son and not sensed it before.

"But I'll make sure that you're safe Sparrow Boy. I don't care how long Barbosa chases us," he smiled softly, the fire's flames highlighting his weary features, "I won't let you die too."


	7. Sunlight

Sparrow Boy awoke the next morning with a start. There was a soft snore on the other side of the burnt out campfire, purring about some woman named Willow and how she had her loose lips open, though he paid very little attention to that. The soft coat scraping against his body caught his eyes first, his mind on what could have possibly dropped it on him and why it smelt faintly like spiced rum.

It was then that he noticed the slumbering Jack beside him, coatless, shut eyes fluttering needlessly as the sun's rays began to flood the beach. Had he abandoned his warmth…?

Sparrow Boy struggled to his feet without so much as a word, throwing the coat over his father to ensure he was rudely awoken. Whatever dream he had experienced was suddenly ripped from him and, as though he were seeing his son for the first time, Jack fixed him with the hardest stare he could.

"What did you do that for?" the child didn't reply. Instead, he stepped forward to the forest in front of them, shimmering with untold mysteries and the possibility to settle his gnawing stomach, silent and yet loud as he allowed one hand to touch a waxy leaf of palm. The mesmerised, perfect sparkling in his eyes was enough answer for the pirate.

Silence reigned supreme for a moment. Jack noticed how the emptiness in his stomach was becoming an issue, probably more so if they happened to run into any islanders or repeat the cannibalistic experiences he had the displeasure of remembering.

"Are you hungry?" he finally asked, if only for the fact Sparrow Boy's hands hadn't moved from the palm leaf. Without a word the child shot him a look of disdain, like he couldn't imagine the human emotion of hunger or how it affected the way people thought, but it wasn't like that at all. He knew what hunger felt like. It's just, he had become used to it over the years.

"Are you?"

"A bit peckish, I suppose. I'll catch some fish."

"There's no need," the boy's eyes became alerted to the inner workings of the forest, something he remembered from an old storybook that Windesa had told him; "There's normally berries in forest bushes. Edible berries. Have to be careful but, usually, they're pretty safe."

Jack was surprised by his son's knowledge. Normally he thought boys born on land were foolish, perhaps unaware of the ravages of the forests and the existence of poisonous food, but it seemed that the young Sparrow Boy was willing to destroy that biased outlook. Without thinking he smiled at him; an action that made the child pout in reply.

"Don't look at me like that. Fish can make you sick if you don't cook it properly, and you don't seem like the Cook of the Castle."

"What? Oh, no – I wasn't making a point. I'm just…" the silence came again between them, a pause that was no more awkward than it was unwelcome, "Surprised that you know about berries."

"You'll be surprised at what I know. I'm not a little boy anymore."

The seriousness in his voice is something Jack recognises, but doesn't dare comment on. Too much time had passed for him to have an opinion on Sparrow Boy; if he were to claim that in fact, he was a young child, he doubted that he would be met with anything but another pair of hands on his throat. His Adams apple still throbbed from the night before.

More silence continued. Sparrow Boy didn't break it and neither did his father, instead choosing to keep himself busy with making a basic spear whilst he kept an eye on the child. There was something in the way he moved – something in the way he took each seashell and inspected them closely, almost as if they kept a secret from him that he could later use.

But finally, they have to speak to one another, "You're hungry. I can hear your stomach growling from over here." Jack's eyes were on his son as he spoke, soft words escaping from his lips even though he didn't want them to. He shouldn't have cared that the child was hungry. He should have only cared that he was hungry, and that he hadn't ventured into the forest to retrieve his next meal.

"Interesting observation," Sparrow Boy's eyes met his, identical, intense, "You must be a master detective. Please, tell me how you discovered water is wet."

The sarcasm. It makes Jack smile slightly, out of both amusement and frustration, memory and mirth. He had too become a master of sarcasm during his boyhood and wielded it as sharply as he would his sword, although he remembered why he had used it. The thought of why his own son had become accustom to its tools hurt, despite his apparent need to care only for himself.

"I'm just suggesting that we solve that. Neither of us want any creatures sneaking up, do we?" he moved backwards to demonstrate his words, though the only animal he could find was a half-eaten crab. It wasn't exactly the terrifying example he wanted.

Sparrow Boy let a smile dance on his face, perhaps the first smile since they had left his beloved homeland, "Oh, I definitely don't want one of them coming after me. Imagine – they might pincer me to death!" with one finger he poked the claw, wondering if some seagull had killed it and disliked the taste or if it had only escaped the mighty birds clutches to die on the sand.

The pirate smiled as he watched his son. Childish, innocent, humorous; everything that the boy did should have been those things but, since his upbringing had been anything but desirable, he acted more like Jack than Jack wanted to know. Why would someone be so cruel to their child? Perhaps a name would make him forget…

"You know, Sparrow Boy isn't really a good name."

The child's eyes rose, "Oh?"

"I was thinking something more traditional – how do you like Phillip?"

"How do you like drowning? I don't need a new name."

Jack didn't know how to reply. He could see that the boy would suit something more traditional, something that normal parents called their children and continued calling them until their deaths, but Sparrow Boy seemed rigid on the answer. He didn't need a name. He didn't want a name. He just wanted that nightmare to be over so he could finally return home, back to the Blacksmiths and back to his world of mediocrity.

"Berries?" the pirate finally asked, at a loss for other words. His son glanced at him.

"What kind?"

"The edible kind."

"That's not what I…are you sure you're a pirate? You've got the survival instincts of a polka dotted badger."

"Don't backchat your dad, boy."

"Don't call me boy, Captain."


	8. Swinging Through the Trees

"You're staring at me again," Sparrow Boy pointed out as he dived between treetops, fully aware of his father's awe-filled gaze and lacklustre gape, "I told you twenty minutes ago. Stop staring." One hand gripped on the tree's branch before he propelled himself to the next one, rather like a monkey would on the undiscovered reaches of that world.

"Sorry, I just didn't know you were half gorilla." Another smirk fell upon the man's features; he knew that he wouldn't be liked for that comment and how his son would probably make him pay for it later on, although he didn't want to think about that. The way Sparrow Boy swung with ease and held the branch with even more, his glare made of ice as he huffed out a reply.

"Yeah, the half that comes from my father," again he swung forwards, cutting his palms with sharp splinters that he didn't even register, "What are we going to do then? Until Barbosa comes, I mean. I don't want to be sitting on my hands when he shows his face again, and you'll most likely have that as a plan, if I know you so far."

"Your words wound me!" Sparrow Boy didn't bother to look down at the pirate. Instead he kept his eyes rigid, focusing on the brushing of the waxy leaves and reminding himself to be mindful of the spider bites. They weren't too much for him but he just didn't fancy risking one, in case that his father wasn't versed in anti-venom as much as he was.

Silence descended. The child was beginning to grow used to it – there wasn't much he could say to make small talk since, for the entire nine years of his life, his father had been absent, and he didn't want to tell him all of the things he had got up to in that time. Knowing his luck Jack would feel the need to reciprocate, which would be fine if he didn't believe his stories would be filled with prostitutes and all the illegal deals he had been going through.

He could imagine what had happened throughout his childhood. He imagined his father working with all sorts of filthy degenerates, quite possibly housing some as he went gallivanting off on the sea air and breathed in the fumes of his salacious whores.

One image stayed in his mind; his father draped in riches that should have rightfully gone to his upbringing, his eyes on some half-dressed cow that looked as though she should have been born without self-worth, his hand on a clanging gold piece that looked similar to an Aztec legend. He wasn't sure how he felt about it. One part wanted to hate him, scold him and leave him for dead in the forest, but the other just wanted to ask questions. Wanted to know.

Why?

Jack was imagining something similar, but for his son. He thought of a tiny baby squealing in his uncaring mother's arms, her lip bathed in blood as she bit it and held the infant over a bridge of water. The child looked up with those eyes – those big, innocent eyes that Jack saw every time he looked in the water – before it continued squealing, realising in some way the danger it was in and how its own mother wanted it dead. That was until she finally pulled it from the bridge's edge and brought it to her chest, but only because of a well-timed horse and cart rumbling past with some sort of noblewoman in it.

"Lovely night for a walk with the baby, isn't it?" she would have called whilst she rumbled on her way. The mother would have nodded back, but only because she couldn't admit that she was trying to murder her own offspring.

And then she would have trudged of home with him against her chest. The infant would cry until his lungs gave out but she would not tend to him, would not hug him; she would just watch him throughout the night and wonder what his father was up to, how he would never come back to rid her of the burden he had made. Perhaps she thought Jack would happily kill the boy? Better to be childless than have a child he didn't want, especially when that child came from a complete whore on the other end of God knows…

"You're staring."

He shook his head as he was abruptly brought out of the trance, suddenly aware that his son was on the ground and had been looking at him for the past eight minutes.

"I told you not to stare. Are you intentionally ignoring me or do you want me to throw a spider at you?" the twisted, repulsed face that his father makes is enough to tell Sparrow Boy he doesn't, but he has to think if it would be worth it. He didn't like the man. He was just putting up with him until they had to part, and then he would be back to travelling with his beloved Blacksmith.

Silence begins, but is broken as they walk, "You mentioned that you're a merchant's boy to Barbosa. Did you have to watch them a lot?" he brushed a branch out of his face, hoping that the child would answer him rather than ignoring the question entirely. Sparrow Boy breathed out a sigh as he remembered his mother's loose ways, but he saw no reason to hide his past. At least, not the parts she was involved in.

"Sometimes. Most times. It's something I got used to." His eyes stayed rigid to the green path in front of them, rutted by some tribe that he couldn't tell was still alive.

"Did you watch them when they were younger?"

"She left me in the room when she worked. I…I remember a man asking once if I cared, but she said I was too stupid to remember anything. Hm. Guess she was wrong about that."

"You don't care about it?"

"Why should I?" the brown eyes looked at his father again, "She's dead."

Jack smiled through his discomfort, "You're not. That means you'll remember."

"She's dead and I'm alive – that's a win in my book. She ruined my boyhood, I apparently ruined her girlhood. We were even then. It wasn't my fault that she got done in for being a witch, and I sure as Hell won't talk about her anymore to you." The defensiveness took Jack by surprise, but he could see the tears building in Sparrow Boy's eyes. He didn't want to talk about his mother because he was afraid, mostly of the unresolved feelings he had, mostly of the anger he felt towards her. She was dead. He was alive.

That meant he'd never have the answers.

"Fine, mate," he purred despite himself, "When you want to bitch about her again, I'm here."


	9. Living Through the Tears

The forest walk was calm. Sparrow Boy may have enjoyed it if it weren't for his company, who insisted on chattering away about some sort of pirate legend that he'd heard of as a boy, trying to make his own son realise the importance of a code when he couldn't care less about it. Tree trunk after tree trunk passed them as they went on their way, silent if not for Jack's incessant voice.

The child didn't listen to him much, and when he did he could only grasp the gist of what he was saying. Something about Barbosa and an Aztec gold coin; it wasn't that interesting but Sparrow Boy chose to murmur every once in a while, just so Jack continued talking and wouldn't try to turn the conversation on him.

Dew-dropped spider's webs layered their path. The boy noticed them when he reached forward to pluck some fruit from an overhanging branch, his eyes like a hawk's whilst he imagined what the ripened, red sphere could contain. It had been many days since he enjoyed a fruit – even before his mother had been 'justly' hanged and he'd been tossed into that uncertain world, Sparrow Boy wasn't commonly found with fruit.

"They're lovely," he commented as he turned to his father, shining his riches on his trousers before he took a large bite, "The cobwebs."

Jack had been in a crucial part of the storytelling process when he took notice, "Hm? What about cobwebs?" with a flick of his hair, Sparrow Boy directed the pirate's gaze to what he had just been admiring, nestled deeply in one of the track's many overgrown bush-borders. "I hope you're not asking me to get it for you, because I'm not risking a spider bite. I'm quite partial to my fingers."

Sparrow Boy didn't gratify it with an answer, but rather took his response as a means of him not listening. Even when he spoke the child had been aware, topical, on top of every single change that went about them and every creature that tried to scurry past, since he knew the forest could mean death for the unwary. There had been stories before; men and women who had scampered off to make names for themselves, mostly believing that the danger was out at sea and none existed on land. How wrong they were…

"Pomegranate," Jack interrupted as the child took a bite of his food. He looked up to show that he had heard but, with a raised eyebrow and a thoughtful chewing, he sent a wordless question. "The fruit you're eating. Pomegranate."

"Oh? I've never had one before," he took another bite. There was no specific taste he could detect, though he wasn't sure if that was because he wasn't focusing or because he was trying to pay attention to two different things at once. The shimmering jungle cat leapt over Jack's head as the unaware man kept his gaze fixed, which could have been fatal if it weren't going for a water vole.

Suddenly, the bitterness found him. Increased speed was gifted to him as he spat out the remnants of red fruit, wishing that he hadn't bothered trying one whilst saliva poured out of his mouth.

Jack could only smirk in amusement, "Don't like it?"

"No!" his face scrunched as he doubled over, spitting and hissing like a cat prowling for prey, "It's disgusting!" a warm hand slapped his back to help him but he tried to shrug it off, still unsure that contact between them was necessary. "Are these really fruit? They're not some sort of poison, are they? It would be like you to try and get rid of me!"

The words came out as more of a snarl, reminding his father in no small manner that he was still untrusted. Jack brushed dreadlocked hair from his eyes as he looked down at the little boy, the little Blacksmith who had regrettably tried something new before him, and wondered if he could ever repair the damage he'd caused.

"Never liked them myself, but they're fruit. Gibbs has something against me when it comes to them – buys them by the bushel, and I've got no choice but to allow them on my ship. It does make for complicated cargo arrangements."

"They're from Hell," Sparrow Boy concluded whilst he straightened himself, as though he needed to justify why he hated the fruit and couldn't just say, 'It's disgusting.'

"Quite."

"No, seriously. It can't be from anywhere else. I've had things that taste disgusting – I've eaten three week old celery from the bottom of the sea – but that? I would sacrifice my first born child to make sure I never have to eat that again," his eyes glinted when he looked at his father, "Then again, I guess you'd do the same."

They continued their walk after that. Jack couldn't find the energy to chastise him for such a comment and, if Sparrow Boy thought he had been out of line, he didn't show it. His impish gazes were cast about as they travelled, the hat on his head unmoving as though it were born to him. Their discussions were far from his mind by the time the air began to get colder and Jack began to slow down. His age was becoming more of a problem every day.

Instead of being able to escape with nimble limbs and surprising agility, he was starting to lose his edge, watching as his God-given ability was lost to his God-given curse. Life. Ageing. Death. It would come to him eventually, just as it would Elizabeth and Gibbs.

And that's when he looked at Sparrow Boy in a new light. The way the child moved and talked, the way he was so unsure about himself without his anvil but, if put on the spot, could vanquish anything that came to his mind. It meant something. It meant something to Jack. Perhaps that was what fathers felt when they looked at their boys; the chance to live the remainder of their lives through them, no matter what their wishes were.

"You're staring," the boy casually reminded him without turning his head, "Now, where's that spider?"


	10. The Hills

It was Sparrow Boy who found it. They had been trudging along that broken path for what seemed like hours before, aimlessly wandering as though the way would come to them in a dream and their subconscious would lead them there, but one misjudged footstep on an apparently weak part of Earth later…

"Jack!" the child screamed before he dropped through the ground, rather like a spider would when they were blown from their cobwebs. His arms and legs tangled with each other whilst he continued to plummet through stale air; still for so long yet, with the new intruder, alive with archaic dust.

The pirate almost glided to the newly formed hole in the ground. It had been his fault that they even climbed upon the hill which seemed out of place, since there were no other ones for miles and it was in a peculiarly convenient place on the mountainside, where it could see but not be seen for miles. His whiskered face twitched as he gazed down the black, irregularly shaped hole beneath him.

"Are you alright?" he half expected no reply to his words, that his son was so badly hurt that he wouldn't be able to speak, "That was a bit of a drop."

"Oh really? I hadn't noticed!" his response was choked but at the same time, it was a response, and Jack was just happy that he had heard it. He didn't care about the fact his boy's sarcasm cut deeper than a pirate's sword – it only mattered that he hadn't died from that fall.

"Can you see anything?"

"Yeah…yeah, there's some pretty weird stuff down here."

The breeze began to pick up. The Captain felt it brush along his cheeks whilst his eyes stayed firmly locked on the hole, darkness prevailing where he wished he could see his son, "Anything you can use to get back up?"

"Only if I want to cut myself into little tiny pieces," his laughter rasped through the blackness despite himself, because it was pretty much common knowledge that he hated all sorts of sightlessness, "There's…I can see a book. It's huge!"

"Books won't help us right now."

"I can tell they probably never helped you at all! No – it's something…strange. There's a big cover on it, feels like it's been made of stone. Granite, maybe? Oh god, I've never heard of a granite book…"

"Focus, Sparrow Boy. Is there anything you can use to get back up here?" Jack couldn't tell why he was so worried. There hadn't been any enemies for miles and there certainly weren't any strange gypsy women about, so he'd no reason to believe they were in danger. Was it simply his more fatherly side coming out? Was it the fact he didn't want to be separate from the son he didn't know?

Sparrow Boy was nervous to leave the book. He could see its faint outline through the little orbs of dust around him, the darkness broken only by the single flood of light that followed him through the hole. The air was chokingly stale. For a moment, he found himself wondering if it was possible to make a life in that place or perhaps if someone had tried before, but abandoned it due to some unknown factor. The soil seemed rich with crabgrass outside where he could see a veritable orchard growing, though his father was right. He had to focus.

"There are some tables here," he muttered as he found them with his shins, moving the rotted wooden chairs out of his way so he didn't make the mistake again, "Not big enough for me to stack up. The wood would probably collapse anyway. Wow, this place could be hundreds of years old!"

"And you're the first person to set in it for all that time," Jack noted, his hands working to try and fashion strong rope out of twine and discarded vines. An excited squeak erupted from the boy's lips before he turned back to the book behind him.

Jack heard a sigh, "You know, it seems a shame to leave this here. I don't like leaving things behind. Do you think it'd slow us down?"

"You're not bringing it back up here!" his father pulled the threadbare rope towards him so he could focus properly on it, "It isn't that I don't think it's interesting – in fact, you'll find I'm quite the precocious reader when the mood takes me or there's money involved – but I can't even see it. I can't tell if it's too heavy."

Sparrow Boy's eyes rose to the hole of light above him. His eyes were growing used to the dimness by then, so much so that he had begun to note an old kitchen set up and the festering remnants of what seemed like a dinner in front of him. Bugs that had died were lying around it, perhaps their final thoughts on how they were so insignificant in the bigger picture and how their lives would be replaced by countless others.

"Then take my word for it. I want to bring it," he eventually mumbled as he allowed his eyesight to roam, "Don't you think you owe me that?"

"Owe you? My dear little Sparrow, I don't owe people things. People owe me things."

"Sorry, how much debt were you in exactly?"

"Touché." A quiver of a frown appeared on Jack's face, "I'm not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?"

Sparrow Boy's hands fell upon the frozen book cover, noting the jagged bumps with what little visibility he had, "Nope."

"Then take it. You're carrying it, though."

With a smile the boy collected it up, his thoughts triumphant as he turned back to his search. There must have been some sort of door that the previous owner had used, something that was hidden and in plain sight at the same time, rather like those ornaments that the Blacksmith had once tried slipping past him. How he had been trusted before, without even the right to go about his duties unless the Blacksmith sat over him.

"I wouldn't want it any other way!"


	11. Reading

"You could have worked your arms a bit more, you know," Sparrow Boy was commenting as he sat on the makeshift swing set, being pulled up from the hole by his scarlet-tinted, out-of-breath father, "This would've been a lot easier for you if you hadn't skipped out on arm strength."

"Strangely enough, young Sparrow, I didn't think that I'd ever have to do something like this," he grunted in reply with another pull of the rope. He had feared that it would snap the second his son got onto it, especially since he wasn't the master craftsman with even the finest of tools. The threadbare strands that held it together strained mercilessly, the vine itself brittle under his touch and threatening to disintegrate from just a gust of wind, yet it held fast as the little boy hummed a tune.

It went along the lines of, "Captain Jack Sparrow can't pull a rope; if he gets in a fight, he'll have no hope!" and Sparrow Boy chuckled at his own jokes, knowing full well that he'd probably be rewarded with another riveting tale about beestings.

Jack couldn't help but add in his own, "Sparrow Boy sits with the book in hand; if the rope snaps, with it he'll land!" which earned another giggle from his son, though it was gone as soon as it sounded. Jack wanted it to come back. He wished to hear laughter in his child's voice rather than the sadness he'd grown accustomed to.

By the time Sparrow Boy reached the surface, the wind had grown to a sufficient speed. Blowing down from the mountainside and attacking them with full force, it was all the child could do not to stagger into the cool grass below, most likely festering with all sorts of dead and live things. The blades were long enough to hold miniature villages. Momentarily, he wondered who would have allowed their home to grow to such a dishevelled heap, with the hair-like grass sprouting on an oily forehead of wrecked kitchen and rotted wood, though soon enough he just turned to his father with a glint in his eyes.

"This," he thrust the book into his hands, "This is what I wanted." Jack looked it over once as a sort of token glance, not really taking in the stone back or the fact it was bonded by a mechanism that looked like tree roots, running along the black exterior as though it were sucking nutrients from it. He wasn't as perceptive as Sparrow Boy. He didn't like books and, because he hated them so, he didn't really have time to care about what they looked like.

"That's lovely, but it's not important," he mumbled before he gave it back, not noticing the sparkling hurt that glistened in his son's eyes, "What is important is getting out of this wind." With a fleeting gaze he turned to their surroundings; the large forests that sat on one side of them and the rocky mountain on the other. Neither of them were particularly appealing.

Sparrow Boy turned his back pettishly on his father so he could look about himself, perhaps with a thought that if he found one, he could claim that he didn't trust Jack enough to find something suitable and would much rather go with his gut. He saw all of what the pirate saw. He admired the way the trees were standing so rigidly against the wind that whipped their trunks, and the way the mountain seemed to tremble under the sheer weight of itself whilst everything else looked so small, so pitiful when compared to it, like a bug against an elephant. Sometimes he just wanted to stop and stare, but he would never allow himself to do so.

The Blacksmith was probably wondering where he'd got to.

"There," he eventually signalled towards a small opening in the mountainside, something that only his sharp eyes could detect. It seemed that his years as an apprentice were finally coming into use…

"Where?"

"Don't be an idiot!" without looking at him, Sparrow Boy snatched the book out of his hands and stormed down the hillside, his jaw set as his eyes burned with a smouldering yet unspoken hurt. Jack could only scramble after him since he was so quick, so nimble on his feet despite training his hands.

There was more silence. It was a trend between them already, no matter how short their time together had been. In the distance the waning sunlight was visible, the shining sunlight slowly disappearing as the darkness seized it and claimed the world as its own, moulding it, shaping what was left of the day's influence into some sort of shadow matinee.

Absence of light. That was what Sparrow Boy remembered it as. The term 'shadows' had scared him as a young boy – he had become wary to his own at one time, when he thought that they could come to life and take him to their shadowy realm in the distance. After he was told they were merely an absence of light, the fear, though never truly dissipating, had faded somewhat, giving him a way in which he could walk out in the darkness and enjoy the burning amber orb as it vanished.

"Are you alright?" Jack broke the silence, as he had done so many times before, "You're looking a little…lost."

Sparrow Boy hadn't realised that he had taken the away from the mountain. Instead of heading towards the open-mouthed cave he had seen, they had been walking along a dirt trail that they hadn't spotted before. It led all the way beyond the horizon and vanished over another hill, where a baby pink sky was just beginning to surrender to the night. He cursed his own thoughtlessness.

But he couldn't let Jack know he'd made a mistake, "Of course I'm alright, not that you actually give a damn. Just follow me and we'll be fine. Don't talk either," he held the book just an inch away from his chest, opening it as he half-turned to stare at his father, "I'll be busy reading."


	12. Campers

The book was unusually difficult to read, what with the strange runes decorating the border and a few Latin words written where English should have been. He tried to work his way through it whilst the pair continued on, silent despite the trickling streams they could hear some ways away from them, determined that neither would speak until they found somewhere to camp.

Sparrow Boy's eyes were still focused on the book when Jack gave a shout of eureka. He turned just in time to see his father race off into the darkness, screaming about some sort of pre-setup campsite that he had caught out of the corner of his eyes. A sigh passed through Sparrow Boy's lips but he followed, the book still in his hands even though he couldn't read it properly.

"I'm not sleeping in that," he said when he finally saw the campsite. It was makeshift at best, with a shawl tied up between two twig-like trees and a pathetic excuse for a fire-pit in front of it, looking as though it couldn't even cook the unsuspecting bug that stepped into it. What was left of the original kindling – or at least, what Sparrow Boy assumed was kindling – had rotted down to the dirt it sat on, with all sorts of ants and unknown creatures chewing at the slimy exterior.

"Well, it's better than sleeping on the floor," Jack pointed out whilst he tried to make the ground a little comfier, sacrificing his coat so that Sparrow Boy would have something to lie on, "You're going to feel far more comfortable if you lay down on this, don't you think?"

There was a silence again. The child looked at him with that untrusting glint in his brown eyes, his thoughts on why the pirate would give up his coat when it was obvious they weren't going to be travelling for very long. If anything, he was only trying to make his way to the nearest port, which he hoped would be on the other side of that otherwise uninhabited place.

"Fine." He eventually lay down underneath the shawl and on his father's coat, ignoring the warm scent that rose from it as he tried to find some peace. The book was tucked up snuggly in his arm like the strangest teddy bear in the world; Jack took a second to look at it when he was sure Sparrow Boy wasn't aware, but he kept his hands busy with starting up the fire.

The pirate soon heard his son's snoring. Without thinking he turned, a smile on his face when he saw the boy's sleeping features and the way he seemed so comfortable on the coat, the streaked dirt that lined his barely-visible contours like a beautiful, half-finished masterpiece. He looked so much like Jack. He looked so much like him that it was terrifying, upsetting in some ways.

"What are you?" he whispered under his breath, crawling towards his boy as a smile danced on his lips, "You're…you're me, but you're so different." The boy flinched in his sleep but didn't wake. The tight-lipped frown he wore slowly broke into a twitching grin, as though his dreams were taking him far from that nightmare he really lived in whilst his father could only watch, left behind as Sparrow Boy wanted him to be.

There was a pause before Jack dared speak again, "I didn't even know you existed. I didn't even know she was pregnant, let alone that she had you. But…you might not be mine. You might be some other man's. You said before that she was loose – you might be a merchant's boy. You might be."

"Mother…" a soft whisper fell from his dirt streaked face. It was scarcely audible and Jack couldn't hear it clearly, but the way his features moved struck him as familiar. They were so alike to his own. They were so alike to his father's, who was sailing the vast oceans trying to forget he even had a son, trying to overlook that Jack existed as he kept his wife's shrunken head on his belt, black leather, something the pirate had wanted to forget about.

"No, you're definitely mine. Or, at least, you're part of my family," he brushed his thumb against the boy's hair-covered forehead, "That makes you a Sparrow, not a 'Sparrow Boy.' I wonder if you'd like a new name…"

In his slumber, the boy shook his head. It could have been a pure coincidence since his dreams were filled with delicious treats and some foolish woman, one of which shared the same features of his mother, was trying to force spinach down his throat, granted it wasn't working.

Jack took it as a sign, "No, that was a bit of a long shot. You aren't ready to be changed yet, though you will be – I've not doubt about that. You've got sailing in your blood. You're going to be a pirate one day or, you know, if you want to break your old dad's heart, maybe a general in someone's navy. God knows you can handle a boat. It's a trick that only we Sparrows know."

And then he fell silent, content to look at the child that slumbered so peacefully beside him. He was a father. Sparrow Boy was his son. No matter what happened now and what walks he took in later life, that wouldn't change; he had a son. A family.

"Jack…" the boy whispered sometime after the pirate had fallen asleep. Propped up against one of the twig trees, he snored and seemed to have become dead to the festering forest around them, the glowing yellow eyes of some predator on their every twitched movement or wrinkle of the nose. Sparrow Boy was awake when he caught sight of them, but only for a moment before they were gone again.

"Jack," he was more forceful, knocking off the pirate's hat as he clutched his own tightly. A startled snort came out of Jack's throat when he jumped awake, shoulders tight against his ears as he glanced about. "Oh sorry, did I wake sleeping beauty?" his son's sneer made him turn to the darkened shawl he slept under.

"Why are you waking me up?" he yawned, "It's late. I think."

"There's something watching us," the boy pointed to the place where the eyes had glowed, within a bush that held the thorniest wild roses, "In there."

"Just your imagination, I'm sure."

"Are you going to ignore everything I say? Because if you are, I'd gladly leave you here to have your throat torn out."

There was so much conviction in the child's voice that Jack suddenly felt the urge to comfort him, but he settled for walking to the bush and parting it. His sharpened eyes inspected every leafy edge although, just as he had expected, there was nothing there.

"Just your imagination," he stated triumphantly as he turned back, "Nothing more."

But Sparrow Boy could only huff a reply, "You're wrong."


	13. Why?

Jack decided that his night was better spent guarding Sparrow Boy, promising him that the predator wouldn't return if he kept his eyes peeled for it. It took some time but finally, when his eyelids were drooping and there was no more fight left in his body, the boy allowed himself to fall into the dark abyss of sleep. Dawn broke without him for the first time in his life, its rays like a soft remembrance of innocence that he'd never had, its warm kiss the tenderness that he'd never received.

The pirate watched as light washed over them. He admired the way it brought the child's face to attention, his eyelids flickering almost instantly as the sunlight fell upon him and cast leafy shadows across his face, patterned amongst creation's randomness, perfect amongst the flaws of nature and whatever God had created it. For a moment he was speechless as he brought a trembling hand to his face, wiping the remnants of rum from his beard that he'd brought in a stashed away canister.

By the time Sparrow Boy's eyes opened, the sun had almost cleared the unseen horizon, "What time is it?" Jack pulled himself from his trance even though he didn't want to, content to watch the soft details of his boy for more than an eternity.

"Time? Don't know." He replied honestly. Clicking of unknown creatures sounded above them as a soft wind brushed through the trees, forcing them to arch slightly like they were in tender pain.

"Really? You don't have one of those God-awful golden pocket watches?" when his father shook his head and shrugged his shirt-covered shoulders, Sparrow Boy's eyes widened further, "Seriously?! You seem like the sort of person who would!"

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"That's weird; I didn't mean it as one," the child's face twitched with an impish grin as he struggled to his feet, hair sticking up in some wild fashion, making him look similar to a monkey that Jack begrudgingly remembered. "Shall we get moving?"

"Aren't you hungry?" his father was surprised – they had barely eaten since the pomegranate incident, and whatever they had found was pitifully small. Even he could feel the gnawing famishment in the pit of his stomach, so long full with the pleasures of being a famed pirate that he barely remembered hunger, let alone have anything to do with it.

"No." his son turned to look at him, intense brown eyes meeting intense brown eyes as he searched for some emotion behind them, "Are you?"

So, it was a game Sparrow Boy wanted. Jack was good at anything psychological, and mind games were somewhat of a speciality for him. With a crooked smile and a twitch of his whiskered face, he replied in kind.

"I asked you first."

"And I didn't answer."

"But why is that, hm?" Sparrow Boy didn't reply. His father took the moment of silence and made it an advantage, an opportunity to finally get some depth on the boy he barely knew, "You're choosing not to trust me, but then why do you travel with me? Are you scared of being alone? Come little Sparrow Boy; you're quite safe with me, no matter what people say. If I wanted to hurt you, don't you think I would've done it by now?"

There was a sudden fire in the child's eyes, smouldering with a viciousness that Jack hadn't expected, "No, I don't expect you'd have done it. Because, if you hurt me now Jack, then what use am I to you? Who would take me as leverage? I don't know where we're going and I don't know where we are, and it's all your fault."

He watched as the boy sprinted through thickening forest, his last ounce of strength used so that he could race after him. For such a young child, Sparrow Boy was fast, and by the time Jack caught up to him they had cleared at least eight miles of landscape.

"You're supposed to have a heart attack and die," said the child matter-of-factly as he set his book down, using a nearby stream to clean his dirt-striped face whilst his father tried to breathe.

"You're not supposed to be running off."

"What, now you know I'm a Sparrow you think you can order me around? You think I have to listen to you?" the book was tossed at his head but he ducked and let it sail past, forcing Sparrow Boy to dive behind him so that he could retrieve it. Wet hands seeped through the age-old pages, crisply soaking them as the ink ran and mixed with other words.

Jack was quick to use the boy's diversion, "No, but I don't think you should go gallivanting off when you don't know what's out there. I'd rather we were together and rushed into a bear trap than you being alone and doing it, alright?"

"And why is that?" brown eyes turned, "Because you love me? Because you want us to have a good old father-son bond?"

"Because!" there was silence, "Because…I want you to be safe."


	14. Storms

"You've got something on your face."

Jack looked up at his son as he lolled against the gnarled tree root, one leg hanging down so he could dip his feet in the lake below. For a moment he didn't register the words, which made Sparrow Boy roll his eyes and lean forward slightly, his precarious balance on that strangely thick root threatened so he could stare in the man's eyes.

"You've got something on your face. Wipe it."

That was when the pirate frantically began touching his features, trying to detect where the offensive dirt was with his calloused fingertips, "Where?"

"There," a thick ball of mud slapped Jack's face before he could react, before he even realised that his son had grabbed and thrown the wet sludge at him. Out of surprise he squeaked and scuttled in a backwards crab walk, but two pinprick holes in the muck let him see the grinning boy's face as he set himself back in place, pleased with himself for his hilarious attack.

"That wasn't funny," he muttered, letting water flow through his fingers whilst he dipped his hands in the lake, "You could've fallen in."

The grin didn't leave Sparrow Boy's face, "Yeah, but I would've been cleaner than you are."

It was hard to believe those two had been bickering not hours before. After the shocking revelation that Jack actually cared for his son's safety, that he didn't want him to die needlessly in the forest and would do anything to make sure that didn't happen, Sparrow Boy had been a little softer on him. He still hadn't shaken his hand or allowed him to pat his head, but the frost of their first meeting was certainly thawing.

Flies drifted aimlessly around them as the child stroked the tree bark, noting how the mildew seemed soft when the trunk itself was so rough on his fingertips. Hadn't he read about tree types before? The boy could have sworn he was looking at a mighty Oak, with a tentacle root, one that gave him the perfect seat after their tiring walks.

Seconds later, "Ouch!" he fell backwards from his spot and had to grab hold of the tendril, his face covered in slime whilst his father cackled mercilessly. With his free hand Sparrow Boy wiped his eyes, fixing him with a soft scowl before pulling himself up. "That wasn't funny."

"Yeah, you could've fallen in."

There was something in Jack's voice; it was soft, light, nearly undetectable to a naked ear but for Sparrow Boy, louder than anything he had heard in his life. Was it pride? Was it abandon? Was it joy? He wouldn't know, though he allowed himself to wonder at the possibilities as he adjusted back to his seat. His eyes twinkled when he looked at the relaxed man in front of him, the man who cared, the man who technically hadn't left him since he'd known about him.

"Jack-"

A crack of lightning interrupted him. Sparrow Boy squeaked, jumping from his perch again until he was safely on the mud-filled ground, scuttling backwards until he quivered against Jack's chest and looked up frantically at the sky. Through the treetops he could see it – charcoal black clouds swathed blue lightness, slicking everything with oil whilst the rain slowly began to fall. What started as spit quickly became bullets, and Jack was quick to pull them under the nearest shelter.

They slipped down the landslide lake-cliffs until they reached the lip of a cave, cut from the rock after a million years of erosion. Its moss-covered insides were soft enough for Sparrow Boy to curl into, fearfully shaking against a half-formed seat whilst his father busied himself with safety precautions. Thunder rumbled from the sky. The child squeaked again.

"Don't like storms then?" Jack observed with a ball of moss in his hands, squeezed so that he could drink some of the fresh water within, "I didn't like them either as a lad. The fear goes away."

Sparrow Boy could only nod. His hat was shoved so far down his eyes that, for a moment, Jack wondered if they were still there, still hidden under the folds of the pirate's cap and still twinkling with that uncanny likeness. Without thinking he leaned over so he could push it back up, coming face-to-face with those eyes as they sparkled in fear, choking him with a memory that he had long since pushed aside.

They were both silent until Jack finally stammered, "Er, sorry boy, I didn't-"

He was cut off by two arms wrapping tightly round his neck, soft breath filling the crook as Sparrow Boy buried his head in it and whimpered softly. Warmth enveloped the pirate and before he could stop himself, his arms wrapped around the child's waist, his body fit snugly against him whilst the thunder continued to roar.

"I'm scared," he whispered into his father's ear, "I'm scared of storms."

There was a nod of understanding as the grip around him tightened, accompanied then with the gentle cradling that Sparrow Boy had never experienced. Jack pushed with his tiptoes to create a steady rhythm, his knees soaked uncomfortably from the moss below but not caring because that moment was so perfect, too perfect to ruin. The dreadlocked hair brushed softly against his cheek and tugged his beard slightly, though only slightly, whilst his son's heavy breathing softly billowed against the pirate's ear.

"Jack?"

"Yeah?"

There was a pause, "You won't leave me, will you? I…I don't want to be alone here."

Tears blurred Jack's vision before he closed his eyes, puffing out his closed lips so that he could try to control his voice. _Dammit Jack, don't lose face, not here…_

"I won't leave you Sparrow Boy," he mumbled as he nuzzled deeply into his shoulder, the shirt's fabric soft against his nose, "I promise."

He was met with a grateful sigh, one that was soft and light yet somehow strong, "Thank you."


	15. Singing

The storm went on for what seemed like hours. In that time Sparrow Boy listened to tales of his father, how he had come face to face with the Kraken and left without his life, only to return again once his friends had ventured for him. With awe the child listened, drinking in every word that fell from the pirate's lips as if they were holy water and he, being the precocious young reader, were a scholar looking for religion.

"And that's how your dear old dad found his way back to the land of the living," he finished on a high note as he leaned back on the moss, his eyes as light as his smile whilst he looked at the cross-legged boy in front of him. One ringed hand was pressed against the side of his hair covered head, his posture unrefined since he was more than relaxed in front of Sparrow Boy.

"Wow." He breathed the breath he didn't know he'd been holding, "What about the others? Where are they now?"

"Ah, that's the big question! I know Will's probably still out at sea, what with his curse and all," a weakened frown flickered across Jack's features before it vanished again, replaced with a relish as he spoke about Elizabeth, "Her little boy must be reaching three by now. My, how it's been a long while."

"Why haven't you visited?"

"Not my place to visit her. She's probably living a life that most aristocrats want to live – it's not my business to go spoiling that…again," there was another mask on Jack's face when he spoke, one that Sparrow Boy could just barely see through. The vibrancy of his eyes had dulled by a mere notch and his beard no longer seemed to twitch in delight, which were all characteristics the child had come to expect. Perhaps he had loved Elizabeth at one time? Perhaps thinking about her brought him pain? But it was the coldness of his voice that told the boy everything; he felt guilty for what happened to her tragic romance, her Will and her son.

That was when he had a brilliant idea, "Let's go together." The pirate's eyes were suddenly on him like a piercing arrow, intense as he searched his son for any signs of jest.

"What?"

"You said you didn't want to spoil it for her, but you can't now. You've got me," a smile stretched on his thin lips, "And she'd trust you if she knew you were a dad too."

"It's not about trust, Sparrow Boy. Barbosa's coming after us and I'm having a hard enough time looking after you, let alone bringing her into the equation."

"Maybe we could find shelter at the place you talked about. Make a turtle boat and be on our way before sunset. It'll be like you did before, only with me!" he jumped in his boyish good nature, alive with a vigour that hadn't inflicted him before. Jack saw that determined spark in his eyes – it was something that he had possessed once, long ago when he thought the world was ripe for the picking and he was the proverbial orchard-boy.

He sighed, getting up from his soggy seat so he could drape his coat around his son. A sharp draft was beginning to fill the cave they sat in, as if a reminder that winter was on its way and they would have to find some form of shelter soon, else Jack would be forced to watch his little boy freeze to death. It wasn't a question that he wanted some warmth too.

_It has been a long time since I last paid Liz a visit, _he thought as the boy curled up in his coat, _she asked me to make some time for her soon. That was when she was still pregnant with little William. Perhaps it would be a good idea to finally pay into my promise?_

"Jack," he was pulled from his thoughts of nobility when his son spoke, a soft whisper that was almost unheard amongst the hissing of the wind, "Will you sing to me?"

"Sing? I…I don't even think I can sing." That was a lie – his father had been intent on teaching him some of the nastiest pirate chants known to man, certain that his son would make more than one type of ripple in the water.

"Oh."

"Did your mum ever sing?"

There was a dull pain in Sparrow Boy's eyes as they suddenly went distant, like he was trying to remember a time when his mother sang to him about something other than carnage. It was a futile effort. If she didn't have a new song for the local men she wanted to try out, the heartless old witch had never sung to her child.

Jack instantly tried to rectify his mistake, "I mean, did she sing for anyone? Was she a singer?"

"She…she sang songs that were meant for brothels, but she never sang to me," there was a spark of hope in his eyes, "At least, I don't think she did. Maybe, when I was a baby. It doesn't matter anyway." He pulled the coat to sit around his ears, lying on his side so that his father wouldn't see his threatening tears or the tremble of his bottom lip, something that happened just moments before he burst into un-masculine sobs. Jack couldn't help but sit next to him, his back to the child's feet as he stroked the soft cheek of his boy, wondering how he could have left without a second thought about that woman and been so reckless in the past.

Which was why he found a song in his heart. It rose from his throat as if in a dream, a cliché little number that he decided to call 'My Darling Boy' and kept in his photographic mind for later use, just in case his son became inflicted with illness and needed the comfort of music.

Sparrow Boy listened with a smile on his face. Slowly, his eyes began to close, fading the world around him just as his father sang, "_And by my side you shall stay, until death comes and takes me away."_

And when he thought that his son was sufficiently asleep, Jack planted a feather-like kiss to the corner of his eye socket, "We'll make that trip, little Sparrow. I promise."


	16. The Twine

Sparrow Boy held a squirming turtle to his face, admiring the way it wriggled and tried to snap his tanned little nose off. His father, though half-watching him as he banded the dead specimens together, wished that he'd not grown so attached to the wrinkled demon, which had chased him around the beach with a terrifying amount of speed.

"I think I'll call him George," the boy murmured out loud whilst Jack untangled the twine, found in the forest after a particular lucky stumble into an old pirate's cave, "George the turtle. Can I keep him?" his eyes were hopeful when he turned them to his father, though he wasn't surprised to see a sharp look in reply. That insufferably cute smile danced across his features as he dropped the turtle back on the floor, watching it scamper along the golden shore and off into the forest.

"It's a ways to Jamaica from here, but I think we can get to Port Royal fairly quick," Jack commented with his compass in hand, famed for its uncanny ability to show the way to the heart's greatest desires. Sparrow Boy leaned over to look at the beaten exterior, brass painted gold, gold peeling off.

"What'll we do for food?"

"Here," a bag of berries appeared in his hands, tied perfectly with a thin bendy twig, "They're edible, I'm sure. And we won't be running into any nasty pirates on the way to Port Royal – that would be far too much of a pain."

Suddenly, Sparrow Boy felt his father's arm wrap around his shoulders, pulling him closer so that he could plant a kiss on his forehead. His beard scratched slightly on the soft skin but, because the boy had never been shown any type of affection so meaningful, he smiled, his thoughts on how the Blacksmith had only clapped his back in appreciation and Windesa had offered him her services.

"We'll be fine," the pirate reassured him softly as he slowly put his hat back on, which had been lolling idly in the sand since his work called for concentration. The coat he wore jangled with all sorts of strange trinkets whilst he sampled how buoyant his masterpiece was, even though the turtle shells and twine looked slapdash at best.

Sparrow Boy couldn't keep the nervousness out of his voice, "I don't think it'll stay adrift."

"It will," his father replied, eyes never leaving his intense work.

"That's what you said about that tree, and I spent an hour trying to get you out from under it."

"The branch wasn't supposed to snap – that was just bad luck," Jack's face stretched with a smile, "But thanks for getting me out of there." A nod was passed in acknowledgement as Sparrow Boy opened the book up again, his face a grimace when he spotted the confusing paragraphs and sentences that just didn't make sense. Weren't books supposed to be coherent?

The silence passed in a blissful comfort, not the awkward mess it had been before. Jack continued to busy himself with the boat and his son decided not to intervene, partly out of confusion, partly out of laziness. Instead, he found himself slowly understanding the book that sat in front of him, reading aloud to some of it which made his father look up.

"What were you saying?" he asked. Brown eyes were layered with misperception, the type that Sparrow Boy had worn when he was first told mothers were supposed to care for their young, "The book. What were you saying from the book?"

"It's in Italian. I was taught Italian, sort of," he explained as he flipped through the pages, "I thought this whole thing was in Latin, if not just plain old English."

"What did you say?"

There was a genuine interest in Jack's eyes. For a moment the child didn't know how to react, caught between staring in disbelief and fingering the page he was on, before finally his father coughed and prompted him to repeat it.

"Il mondo freddo sussurrare e portare il demone - nel mio tempo, io verrò per te," he said, "Which roughly translates to; "The cold wind will whisper and bring about the demon – in my time, I will come for thee." The eyes turned back to his father, who was nodding patiently as though he understood what the words meant. "It's probably just an old Wiccan book. I heard they liked to live in remote places like this."

"You're fluent in Italian?"

"Fluent-ish. I know what some words mean and, usually, I can make out sentences if I put my mind to it," the child scrambled on his knees to see his father's creation, finished except for the last bit of twine and a hanging leg of one of the unfortunate turtles. Their green skin dangled horribly from their bodies, making Sparrow Boy want to gag when he imagined women looking the same.

Jack wasn't looking at the boat though, "That's quite a skill to have. Might have to use it sometime during our travels, too."

"I speak Mandarin and a bit of Hindi too," he offered, enjoying the praise from his father more than anything else. It sent warm shivers down his spine when he imagined being worth something in someone's eyes, especially the very man who had created him.

There were no more words after that, just a simple nod of acknowledgement and a half-smile playing on Jack's face. They busied themselves with their separate activities again, not looking at one another until the fiery sun was beginning its descent, not speaking until that growl sounded in Sparrow Boy's stomach and his father caught wind of it.

He smiled softly as he raised his head, "Hungry?" he made a small measurement in his hand without looking back, intent on finishing the chapter he was on rather than looking for precious food, "We better get something to eat. We can finish this tomorrow."

"I'll be alright until sunrise. Besides, we've got berries if it gets too dangerous."

"Those berries are for the trip, not for now."

"And the rum? When's that for?" he cocked his head towards the canisters layering the sand, many of which had come from his father's own pocket and seemed to have been squirrelled away as a dirty secret, "Because you've had a lot of that since we got here."

"Point taken."

"So," he held out the pocket bag of bright red fruit, smiling softly despite his apparent tiredness, "Want a berry?"


	17. Drifting

A merry tune danced on the ocean as the pair glided across sea green water. Sparrow Boy had managed to construct a small mast out of a broken branch and used giant palm leaves for the sail, utilising whatever sap he could as glue so that it would actually hold together. Jack watched, impressed by his boy's improvisation and apparent handiness in the face of such hardship.

"Wind's picking up," he mentioned about an hour after they had set off, the compass wound tightly in his hand just in case he lost it, "You're taking my coat in a little bit and getting some sleep."

"What, and let you sail this thing by yourself? No offence Jack but I've heard about your track record. Seven ships sunk and a bunch of men lost; you're just lucky you're the captain right now."

An impish sort of grin stretched across Sparrow Boy's face, that same kind he wore when he was about to play a prank or had done something wrong and someone found out about it. Without a word Jack let his own smile broaden, stretching his arms out on the uncomfortable raft so he could lock him in a bear hug. The boy shouted, his back tense with laughter, his feet strong against his father's body as they tumbled around the turtle shells.

"Captain's orders, then," the pirate chuckled when he finally got the advantage on his son, pinning him against the dark green casings with a smile on his face, "And I'm ordering that you take my coat and get some sleep. It's getting late." He was right – the fiery orb that led their way was falling to the horizon, its lazy descent met by the eager appearance of the moon and a few of its more prominent warriors, each star ablaze as they watched the sun perish on the baby pink battlefield. Grenades of clouds were still there, the last line of defence, but the moon was beginning to gain the upper hand of their enemy and had finally shed its dark influence, quiet, observing, vast.

But the child didn't want to fall victim to its power, "I'm not going to sleep until we reach Port Royal. Then maybe, I'll do as you ask." The word 'ask' was emphasised clearly, though Jack chose to ignore it. He wouldn't get into another debate with his son, not after their last one had ended with no clear winner and an air of innate rivalry between them.

Time passed between them, and soon enough Sparrow Boy fell to the whispers of sleep. He was beckoned into a world of dreams as Jack draped his coat over him, smiling softly before he uncapped his head and placed the hat right beside his own; a smaller version of it, much like Sparrow Boy was to him. As the night drew on and the wind continued to blow, the father watched as his little boy breathed in the salty air, his chest rising and falling in time to his gentle snores as the world around them melted. Was that what it felt like to be a parent? To want to see every expression on their child's face, every moment that passed in their lives and be there when they needed it, even though it completely inconvenienced them? Jack couldn't tell if it was affection he was feeling or a sense of responsibility, granted he knew he wanted to freeze that perfect moment.

"Why didn't I come back?" he wondered aloud to himself as he cleaned his fingernails, the serrated edge of his blade so very close to making a painful mistake, "Why didn't I come back to her? I could have seen you as a baby, but I just carried on sailing. She…she wanted me to keep sailing. Did she try to get rid of you? Did she hurt you?" the thought made him want to cry, and nothing made him want to cry.

Another horrifying image came into his mind. It was of his helpless little boy in a sort of makeshift coat, festering with bed bugs and all sorts of horrible, disease ridden creatures as the plywood threatened to collapse out from under him, sending the bright pink baby careering to the concrete below. There was a little light on an old bedside table near him, but the oil in it was old. It didn't hold for too long. Soon, the baby was plunged into darkness, his screams unheard by the mother who was trying to sleep off a hangover and the people on the cobbled street below.

"I should have been there," he whispered quietly, his lips suddenly at the child's bright red ear whilst his hands tucked him more tightly in his coat, "I wished I'd had been there. She must've been awful."

A small noise fell from Sparrow Boy's lips, as though he were agreeing despite his unconsciousness. The moon rose higher in the sky as Jack kept himself against his son, warming him with his remaining body heat, recalling all the things he had done in the nine years he'd been a father. None of them were particularly good. Some of them weren't bad but, they certainly weren't the type of thing he wanted to tell his son about.

The night continued on. The chill grew worse. By the time the sun rose to fight off the icy darkness, Jack was shivering all over, his arms wound tightly around himself so that he didn't catch frostbite.

With sun filtering through his eyelids, Sparrow Boy woke to the harsh screech of gulls, "Jack? Where are we?" his mouth was dry and there was an apparent lack of water on their boat, though he'd taken Jack's word that they wouldn't need any. Not any large supplies, in any case.

"We'll hit Port Royal in about an hour, maybe two," he murmured through slightly chattering teeth, "It's been a calm night for sailing." The child looked up to see the blue-hued features of his father, made sharp by a distinct trace of purple that stretched from his eyes to his cheeks, highlighting the sunken eyes he had acquired over his lifetime. They were renewed with the vigour of fatherhood though, for the most part, they hadn't changed much.

"You're cold."

Jack looked up at the genuine worry in his voice, "Yes, I'm a tad on the chilly side."

"You should've woken me up. I would've given you your coat back." There was a sadness in his deep brown eyes, the type of sadness that came from both guilt and disappointment. Without thinking Jack looped his arm around his waist, burying his head in his shoulder so he didn't have to look at those soft irises.

"That's fine – I'd much rather you were warm, Sparrow Boy."

"We could've shared. Here," the boy manoeuvred himself before his father could protest, which pulled them both into a comfortable position and made sure that the coat was draped over their bodies. Sparrow Boy's head rested against his father's shoulder blade, his mouth unmoving as silence descended. Jack felt his hand tangling in the child's dreadlocked hair and thought, for the first time in a long time, that he actually needed to buy something for someone else, because he had just noticed the distinct lack of a bandana to keep the locks in place.

The sun was rising above the horizon quickly when the boy spoke again, "I'm still tired. Mind if I go back to sleep?"

"Hm? No, I don't mind; you're going to need all the sleep you can get."

"Yeah, Barbosa could turn up at any time," he gave a sleepy yawn before nuzzling further into Jack's chest, "Better stay prepared for that."

"Oh, yeah…Barbosa," Jack's fingers stayed locked in his son's hair as the boy slowly drifted off to sleep, oblivious to the furrowed brow of the man above him and the heartfelt expression on his face.

Barbosa wasn't his main concern. Sparrow Boy was.


	18. Swann Port

Port Royal wasn't as grand as Sparrow Boy had hoped it would be. There were sailors milling about on the wooden piers, their arms heavy with the burdens of sea life as they exchanged rambunctious cries between themselves, as well as a few huge boats that looked more like mobile houses than anything else. Aristocrats descended from wooden planks, holding things against their noises to keep themselves from gagging at the smell of rotten clam meat. He gazed in awe whilst his father tied their boat to a post, no plan in his head to actually return for the thing.

"It's so big!" he exclaimed, his eyes fixated on the throngs of fancy dressed men and powdered wigs, "This is nothing like home!"

"Ah, home is where you hang your hat, my dear boy!" his father's words were wise despite the seaweed hanging off his head, acquired after a misjudged lean off the boat so he could pick up an abandoned wine crate, "This place is nothing but a façade. Remember that, Sparrow Boy. These people would sooner have your throat than your friendship."

There was seriousness in Jack's eyes as he became head height with his boy, his mouth set in a straight tight line like it was the most important information he could ever give him. On instinct the boy clutched the book as though it would be stolen right then, an action not lost on his father.

"No, they're not thieves. That would imply that they're outwardly dishonest. No – they're much more complicated than that, but it should be alright. Just stay close to me, and let your old dad do the talking."

His son looked much younger than he had before. His fool hardy face softened to make him see boyish whilst his eyes began to lose their fire, replaced by a fear that only came to children when they were told something frightening. Jack felt a pang of guilt for making him change so, which caused him to wrap his arms around his son and whisper something in his ear.

"Relax; you'll love Lizzie," with that he took the one free hand and led him through the pier, ignoring the offers from several aristocrats to buy his 'little vagabond' or 'take him to a slave camp' some ways away. When would people look down at someone's child and not think of money, but rather the truth of what they saw? Sparrow Boy wasn't a slave. He was a little boy, a man in the making who looked so much like Jack, even the ladies waiting for their suitors noticed it.

Didn't stop them from fawning over Jack, though.

Their words were filled with double entendre and a few promises to be the best housewives ever, their dainty pale hands recorded as the best scrubbers in history whilst their eyes were the jewels of perfection. In truth they were none of those things, but rather harpies who wanted to tame the untameable.

"Keep near me!" the pirate demanded when Sparrow Boy faltered slightly, struck by awe at the amazing industry of Port Royal, Jamaica, the British colony. He kicked up his heels and sped off after his father, knowing that he would get himself lost if he didn't pay close attention to him.

There were so many shapes and sizes, he just didn't know what to do. The quiet town he lived in was large, sure, but it hadn't ever seen that much activity at its port and it certainly hadn't been the centre of such industry. Chugging machines churned out huge clouds of toxic smoke, each one looking more garish than the last as little children – some even younger than him – were working the strange levers, their faces barely covered by thick goggles and beige, soot-covered scarves.

Jack soon realised that the faces they met were all masks, so he took to gripping his boy's hand as they made their way through. He had at least expected one decent person by then, one man who looked happy with soft eyes and an honest enough expression, though he didn't trust honest men. It was too easy for them to turn. That was why he trusted his son, because it was clear the boy had told many lies throughout his short life.

They finally reached the house he was on his way to – a huge mansion, fixed with all manner of wooden panels and fixtures that Sparrow Boy had fawned over in storybooks, his one wish to handle something so precious and create a masterpiece from them. It would be his cuisine if he were a cook, his treasure if he were a pirate; that pink and white house on the edge of a perfectly sculpted white cliff, like a picture that had been touched up and revamped over the years.

"Jack! It's…it's…"

"I know, but hush," he stopped at the iron black gates in front of him, letting out a shaky breath as he imagined the state of affairs within. Elizabeth had vowed no man would come into her life whilst she waited for Will, no person capable enough to take his place and violate the sanctity of their marriage. That meant that she – a dainty, perfect thing – had become somewhat of a black sheep amongst her peers, what with her single motherhood and her dark crested little boy, so fragile, so breakable.

Sparrow Boy watched him patiently, his mind distantly comprehending what his father was doing. The heels of Jack's hands met his eyes as he stayed rooted to the spot, his tiredness noticeable when he finally flashed him a weak smile and opened the well-oiled lock.

"Follow me," the child obeyed his order without question, even though he wished he could let out a sarcastic remark. What else would he do? Run off in the other direction?

The garden was beautiful, with lilies and roses and tulips growing in organised little bundles, perhaps colour coded. Hedgerows were neatly cropped and straightened to near immaculacy as they walked the oddly cobbled path, towards the pink-painted door which led to his dear friend and Sparrow Boy's new one. For a moment, Jack wondered if she had broken her vow and remarried, though he discarded the thought when he remembered how determined she had been about it.

Fierce phoenix that she was…

He wrapped loudly at the door, gripping Sparrow Boy's hand tightly as he heard the faint scuffles inside. Was it Lizzie? Was it little William Turner? He didn't know, but that only made the suspense worse as the door locks were unbolted and it slowly creaked open.

"Jack?" a soft, feminine voice touched his ears before he saw the unmatched beauty of Elizabeth Turner, her brown hair that familiar chestnut colour and her brown eyes the picture of shock as she gazed at the man in front of her, a practical ghost. With bits of seaweed still caught in his hair. Sparrow Boy had tried to take the remaining pieces out but, since he didn't want to embarrass his father, he did it without telling him.

"Hey Lizzie," he said softly, his eyes faltering to the distant past. He remembered their adventures together in the blink of an eye, each one more Hellish than the last but something he would never trade.

She didn't know to react at first. First, she let her hands touch the tanned forehead of her friend, then his sharp cheekbones and the bushy beard, before finally falling to his lips. The lips she had almost kissed. The lips she remembered moving a lot, but rarely saying anything of importance. And that memory alone made her throw her arms around him, squealing with a renewed excitement as she realised it was _Captain Jack Sparrow,_ one of her dearest friends.

"It's been so long!" she cried as he span her around, careful not to hit the little boy who had jumped out of their range, "I've not seen you for three years! How have you been? What've you been up to? Wait – don't answer that one. I probably don't want to know." Her eyes suddenly fell on the quivering Sparrow Boy, reminded too much of Windesa by her beautiful features and stunning hair.

Jack looked back at him, quick to turn and pull him in his arms as though he were protective, "Lizzie, this is Sparrow Boy."

"Sparrow Boy?" her voice was soft as her hand stroked his familiar dreadlocks, "He's…"

"My son." Jack finished for her, which was a small blessing. Sparrow Boy nuzzled his face deeply into his father's shoulder, suddenly feeling as though he were a snivelling baby rather than a growing nine year old.

"He…" she looked at both of them in turn, momentarily confused, before that fire returned to her eyes and her voice came back stronger, "A handsome young man. He looks just like you."

"Thank you Liz, I knew you had a soft spot for me."

"Ah, I see; first I get the heartfelt Jack, now I get the 'charmer.' You two best follow me in so I can get you something to drink – rum, I assume – and him something warm. He looks cold."

"Jack's colder than I am. He gave me his coat last night and turned blue. You should give him something warm," it came out a little sharper than he intended, but it was only because Elizabeth looked so much like Windesa. It was truly frightening. She was quick enough to give him a smile and an understanding squeeze on his shoulder.

"How about I just get you both something warm? Follow me, you two," with a smile on her face, she added, "Leave anything stolen by the door, Jack."

Sparrow Boy looked alarmed at his father for a moment, wondering if she meant what she said, when Jack just chuckled and muttered, "I'm not leaving you by the door. And, technically, I didn't steal you – I just reclaimed you."

And with that, they entered the luxurious house.


	19. The Offer

He loved the inside of the house more than he had liked the outside. With fine wooden panelling and etchings of luxury in every corner, either in the form of a potted plant or wonderfully exotic marble statue, it was certainly a home that Sparrow Boy had fantasised about. It was even completed by the beautiful mother making coffee in the kitchen, her dainty hands expertly churning it before she poured the water in.

"It's been a long time, Jack," she was muttering as the child entertained himself with Will, the dark crested little angel that looked so much like her lost love, "What've you been up to?"

"Sailing, getting into trouble, paying off my debts," he listed the things off on each of his ringed fingers, that familiar grin on his face as he looked directly into her eyes. It was terrifying to think how much he looked like Sparrow Boy, though the child didn't seem necessarily warm towards his father. He didn't even call Jack 'Dad,' let alone look like they were anything more than friends.

"At least you're paying off your debts," she smiled whilst she placed a white cup in front of him, a smaller one right beside it so that Sparrow Boy could drink when he wanted, granted he was far too preoccupied with playing with her three year old.

"Well, partly; you see Sparrow Boy?" his voice turned into a sudden whisper as he leant forward to her, with those familiar whiskers and slightly sea-like breath fogging up her nose, his eyes intense, "Barbosa's after him. He couldn't get me to talk, so he tried to take my boy. That's how I met him."

Elizabeth wasn't surprised that Jack hadn't known he had a son nor that they had met in such traumatic circumstances, though she was a little concerned for Barbosa's reasoning. Why would the pirate be after the child? What did he stand to gain from it?

"What will you do?"

"We're going to keep moving until we reach somewhere safe, and then I'll be leaving him there."

"What?!" Sparrow Boy looked up at the woman's exclamation, forgetting the crucial part of the story he was on as he peered at the chatting pair. She just gave him a tight-lipped smile in return, the sort that said there was something going on but they weren't about to tell him, before she grabbed Jack's arm and pulled him closer to her black iron stove.

"Let go of me, Lizzie!"

"You're leaving Sparrow Boy?!" her eyes were the picture of shock as she fixed him with a steady gaze, her nostrils slightly flared and her fair hair covering one side of her cheek, "How can you do that?"

He looked sadly at the child, "I can't be bringing him with me, Liz. He's too…I don't know, there's just something about him. If I go back on the sea, he'll be in danger. That means I got to find a nice little place where he can build a life, find a decent family he can bunk with and leave."

Sparrow Boy suddenly leant forward the little William beside him, whispering a secret that they could share to complete the 'brother' transaction, which made the three year old squeal with laughter. His soft digits plucked carelessly at his mouth as his grin spread wider, pleased that a visitor had come that could connect with him.

"You're going to just leave him? Like that? Look at him Jack – he looks just like you!"

"Which is why I can't let Barbosa get his hands on him. Imagine it Liz; he'll torture him, hurt him, force him to do slave jobs until he gets bored one night and shoots him! I can't let that happen! I can't let Sparrow Boy die, not after all he's been through."

When Elizabeth shot him with a confused look, the pirate dived right in to the convoluted explanation of his son's strange origin. She listened, horrified, as the tale of his mother came to light and her eyes became rose tinted, looking at the strong little sailor in front of him as a warrior rather than a child. How much had he been through? How much had he seen? She shuddered to think of his state of mind every time he went home, only to see his mother in a compromising position with some shopkeeper they barely knew.

Her voice was soft when she finally choked, "But…he's so young…"

"Exactly," Jack looked sadly at his little boy, propping himself up on the cold iron behind him whilst the children continued their games. He imagined that those colourful train toys would have been the first things Sparrow Boy had played with, other than rusted nails and broken glass that his mother had carelessly left on the floor.

"You can't leave him after that," suddenly she was strong again, as though she had washed away the initial shock of the revelation and was trying to make sense of his next move, "He's too fragile."

"He's a Sparrow – he'll be strong about it."

"What, after he's finished crying and wondering why his father's abandoned him?"

"I won't be abandoning him!" a fire ignited in the brown depths, the same fire he'd worn when they met all those years ago, "It's not abandoning! It's being a grown up, a responsible adult. Don't you think he deserves a life rather than a pirate's one? He's…he's a talented little Blacksmith, so I've heard."

Her eyes dulled for a moment. She remembered her beautiful husband, once a skilled craftsman himself and blessed with the same alluring eyes of Jack, the same sort of swagger when he walked across the pier and tossed her that heart-breaking smile. If Sparrow Boy was blessed with deft hands, perhaps he would be blessed with other things?

"Then…" she caught his wrist without thinking, as though steadying herself for her next words, "Then leave him here. I can take care of him."

"What? Lizzie, no," Jack's eyes filled with tears, "It'll be far too much for you to handle."

"I can do it. I've raised Will; I can raise Sparrow Boy too."

"Yes but…but…I just can't…"

"You'll be leaving him anyway, Jack. Isn't it better to leave him with a friend rather than people you don't know? I can promise you he'll be safe," they both looked at the smiling dreadlocked boy, clapping his hands as he helped William play, "I'll look after him."

"You're…you're sure about this?"

"Positive," she gave him that motherly grin that was still so alien on her, "He's a bright little button. He'll be safe with me."


	20. Betrayal

Jack eased his son into the guest bedroom, where he was certain it would be their goodbye. Sparrow Boy's eyes were closed to the world around him and his breath was even, that contented smile on his face calming as the pirate imagined leaving him forever.

_You've only been travelling a few days,_ he reminded himself whilst he gripped the fluffy duvet, so soft in his hands and perfect to rest against his son's skin, _he won't care when he wakes up. He'll be happier here, with Lizzie. Just you see Jack; you're doing the best you can for him._

Deep inside, he knew it would break their bond. He knew that his son would be furious at the betrayal, quite possibly at his new mother for letting his father go so easily and allowing him, the poor 'orphan,' to be kept in the dark, but it was the only way to protect him. Without fear he sat on the edge of the bed, his thumb brushing the boy's dark locks from his forehead and his eyes sparkling with love.

"It'll be a nice life here, Sparrow," he purred softly so as not to wake him, "I can't take care of you, and I really can't keep you with me. Barbosa's after us. He'll never find you here."

The boy twitched in his sleep, quiet, unobservant; it was one of the most beautiful things Jack had ever seen in his life, and that included the throngs of women on the coasts of Hawaii, their skirts made of leaves as they performed that scandalous ceremonial dance. What gorgeous women they were! But none so perfect as his little boy, a part of Jack in every respect.

"This…this is better, I know it is," he affirmed with himself before pulling the duvet up a little higher, just so it would scrape his son's slightly bruised cheek and provide him with some comfort during slumber, a luxury they had both been starved of. That face would be inflicted with no more wounds after he'd vanished, what with the caring nature of Elizabeth and the safe toys she purchased for her own son. It would be as though Sparrow Boy had a fresh start, a whole new world he could explore to forget about his past, forget about the parents who had failed him.

Elizabeth was standing at the doorway, watching the scene with silent tears in her eyes. Never before had she seen Jack so tender with someone, the hardened shell of pirate-life collapsing as he caressed the porcelain cheek of his little boy and bid him his last farewell. The world was so cruel – not only had it stolen her son's father away but also Sparrow Boy's, a child she hadn't known existed but already felt her heart thawing to, already felt the pangs of motherhood as she imagined what torments he had suffered.

The pirate soon kissed the child's button nose before he walked through the room, his footfall turning the carpet to snow as he crept quietly through and spotted her by the doorway. He looked helplessly at her for a second, a split second in which he seemed more man than pirate, until he finally found the strength to say, "He's…"

"I know Jack," her own voice was little more than a whisper, granted it was to make sure the children didn't wake up, "It's hard. But I promise you I'll look after him."

The look in his eyes was the look of a man broken by circumstance, destroyed at the prospect of losing his son but at the same time, knowing there was no other option. There would be no happy ending for Jack. Only pain as he gently drifted on the ocean, off to find new pastures whilst Elizabeth took care of his legacy.

They walked down to the front door in silence. The pirate didn't know what to say, if anything. He couldn't thank his friend enough for taking his precious boy but, even though he was grateful, there was also a deeply embedded sense of anger at her readiness to accept him, like he felt threatened and pushed into handing his only diamond over. Sparrow Boy was like a treasure, a dark treasure hidden at the bottom of the pea green ocean; he was light and hope under that stormy exterior, though it was evident he was someone else's hope. Jack could never hope to be a good father. He would surely have his boy killed, should he have been selfish enough to keep him.

"Jack," he felt a soft hand grab his wrist as he reached for the door, barely ready to leave his son behind, "You don't have to leave him here. You don't have to go." Those eyes were so promising to him, reminding him of the inevitable if he chose to stay and be close to the child. They would all find their deaths at his hands and he wasn't prepared for that, wasn't ready to take that responsibility.

With ease he slowly pulled her palm open, closing her fingers on it as he released himself from her grasp and offered her a weak smile. His dreadlocked hair seemed to fall lifelessly over his eyes, sapped of its energy since he was putting it all into walking away, leaving his friend and son for their own safety.

"It's not an easy situation Liz, but we all know the problems of parenthood. Not all of us are cut out for it. I know you'll take good care of him." That was when he finally leaned forward to the polished brass doorknob, his breath shaky and his vision blurred by unshed tears.

He was only inches away when they heard another startled voice, making them jump out of their skin and spin around to face the intruder. What Elizabeth saw was a little boy clinging to the banister, his voice shrill and his black clothes clogged with dirt, but what Jack saw was the flash of hurt brown eyes and all the fear returning to them. They held their breath as they gazed at the stunned Sparrow Boy, his gaze raking up his father's arm to see his hand clutched on the doorknob.

His bottom lip quivered as he took a deep breath. The arms holding him wobbled slightly, threatening to send him hurtling over the edge whilst his gaze stayed rooted to the man's face, the man he was beginning to trust. Jack was leaving him.

He should have known.

"Sparrow Boy, this isn't-"

"You lied to me!" he shouted, cutting his father off with a breaking voice and a throat full of unshed sobs, "You lied to me! You said you'd never leave! You're a liar! You're…you're…" he began to hyperventilate, his throat thick as the oxygen started to fill and made him unable to speak. But his fury was so great that he just had to choke it out, "You're no father of mine!"

There was an ominous boom from the distant. Quickly following it was a shrill woman's cry, the sort that was heard when they were wailing for passed husbands or moaning at their live ones for money, before the familiar battle jeers of pirates began to echo from the port. Elizabeth looked wildly at Jack as she threw herself to the window, spying flaming torches rushing up to her lone standing house.

"Jack, they're coming!" she gasped whilst she rushed up the stairs, eager to get her little boy and abandon her barely satisfactory lifestyle. Sparrow Boy gave one passing glare to his father before he too sprang into action, arming himself with an old ornamental sword from a trophy case and aiming it at the entrance.

"Get Will, Lizzie!" the captain barked, as though brought to life by his son's heroism, "Have you got a back exit?!"

"The cellar!"

"Grab what you can and we'll go through it! Sparrow Boy," he grabbed his son's arm without thinking, an action that was quickly met by a pointed sword to his gullet and a harsh glare from the boy, "We can do this later! Right now, we need to get everyone out of here!" the child continued staring at him for a moment, as if considering slicing him right there, though he only nodded and threw the sword in his belt buckle.

"I'll follow you but after that, I'm done."

Jack shuddered at the look of intense hatred in his boy's eyes, but there was nothing he could do right then. He simply nodded before they rushed to the kitchen, Elizabeth following closely with her mewling little child, and ready to find another adventure on the open sea.


	21. Tunnel Vision

The cellar stank of rotten rat carcasses and fleshy deer meat, which was the only reason why Sparrow Boy helped his father open their escape. They moved the sizable wardrobe just an inch, big enough for each of them to squeeze through before they closed it again, relishing in the satisfactory 'clunk' as it locked back into place.

He looked down the dark tunnel with a sigh on his lips, his heart heavy with hurt and terror as Elizabeth began her own work – lighting the sconces that she had built in herself, made of ivory horns and the most peculiar of dye colours. Who said a lady couldn't make an escape hatch? Though truthfully, she did have her old friend's help when constructing it.

Cobwebs dangled with lifeless spiders whilst the quartet walked forward. There was silence between them, save the occasional snivel from William and the odd huff from Sparrow Boy, his eyes sleepy, his mind clear through the haze of the stale air around them. Jack wished he could say something. He wished he could comfort him, but it was evident whatever relationship they were building was thoroughly destroyed. And the pirate had no one to blame but himself.

"Sparrow Boy," the infant between them raised his hand to his friend, fear in his eyes that couldn't possibly be soothed by Elizabeth, "Scared."

"It's okay, little man. I've been travelling long enough to know these pirates aren't all that," a soft smile danced on his face as he took the smaller hand, his voice calm despite the breaking of his heart, "Besides, at least you've got people to protect you. I won't leave you if anything happens. I'm not like Jack."

The words cut deeper than a sword as the pirate snapped his eyes up, noting the intense hatred that was burning within Sparrow Boy's. There was sorrow there too, but masked so deeply by his blind rage that Jack daren't go running after it, afraid it would earn him a ticket to Davy Jones' locker or lead to the child running off. With great pain, he brushed the comment aside, wondering if the rift between them was a permanent thing.

And the silence came back, which seemed strange to Elizabeth. She was used to Jack talking all the way through their struggles, used to him saying things that didn't matter or frankly infuriated her, though there was no sign of that as they walked down the slowly-lit tunnel. Her white dress kicked up rocks whilst her high heels had been abandoned sometime before, left in the mud so that she could move more easily.

"Jack," she soon whispered to her companion, whose eyes were heavier than a coat clogged by sea water, "Go to Sparrow Boy. He needs you now more than ever." Her words, though touched with the age-old wisdom of motherhood and positively dripping in good nature, weren't helpful to the pirate. He didn't want to anger the boy more than he already had, and he knew he would do just that if he tried insulting his intelligence. Sparrow Boy would never believe that he was leaving for his own good. He would just see the pain he felt as yet another parent left him, one in reality, one figuratively.

"Just leave him. He'll be angry for a little bit," the reply was lacklustre at best. What reason would he have for not talking to Sparrow Boy? Surely the child would understand, realise what was happening and try to comprehend the situation? Then again, she hadn't much time with him…

There was a tense moment in which the tunnel spanned off two ways and, after much debate, Elizabeth decided the best course of action was left. Sparrow Boy realised that it was his time to make a break for it and tried his best to slip away from the group, though Jack was quick to apprehend his arm.

His eyes turned with a fire building in them, "Let go of me, you lying piece of sea scum."

"I'm not letting you run off to get yourself killed. You'll follow me and Liz until I say it's safe, understand?" the pirate was fierce in his words, but Sparrow Boy could see the flicker deep within his voice. He wasn't as confident as he was before, wasn't ready to fully accept the responsibility that his child presented and follow through with his threats. At that moment, the boy didn't see his father. He saw a man, just as breakable as the people he had walked past, just as empty as his mother had been.

"Really now? Because I seem to recall a little conversation we had upstairs – I'll follow you until I'm damn well tired of it," the child snatched his hand away from the grip, thankful for the burn that made him finally feel something, "You can go that way and I'll disappear, just like you were going to!" he felt a pair of innocent eyes on him, gentle yet firm, everything that he wished he was. His voice squeaked as he pushed the man away from him, desperate to be out of reach so he didn't have to risk the contact.

Jack took the hit to his stomach, but he didn't let himself fall, "You go that way and you'll be dead before tomorrow."

"I'd rather be dead than remember you were in my life!"

"Be that as it may, you're my responsibility!"

"Until you decide to drop me off in some God-forsaken forest and go off by yourself!" the boy was suddenly at his father's face, teeth bared in a snarl as his brown eyes sparkled with distrust, "That's what you really want, isn't it?! You want to seem responsible until you leave me for dead! Why didn't you just leave me in the forest, huh?! Why?!" before Jack could reply, Sparrow Boy screamed and looked down at his empty hands, falling to his knees whilst his eyes gazed wildly about.

"What?! Are you hurt?!" Elizabeth fell to her knees beside him, her slender arms wrapped around his body before he began rocking.

"The book! I left the damn book in your house!"

Jack looked up, "We can't go get it now. Barbosa's lot will already be in there, and we couldn't move the blockade."

"Then leave me here! I'll get it when they come down!"

"Are you joking? Just get to your feet, Sparrow Boy – we don't have time for-"

There was an explosion above them. Elizabeth was quick to deduce that they were directly under her front door, where she had ushered the two men in not hours before and welcomed them with piping hot coffee, only to be rewarded with running for her life. But with Jack, she wouldn't have it any other way.

"We've got to get moving," Jack pulled at his son's hands, uncaring whether the boy looked at him in disgust, "You've got two choices; either you follow us, or I throw you over my shoulder." The boy managed to give him a fierce glare, the emotions a mix between anger and pure hatred before he finally stumbled to his feet, his hands clasping Will's as he gave him a soft smile.

"Lead the way. I'll look after the little guy."


	22. Alone

Being abandoned hurt. Sparrow Boy had told himself he would never be left behind, that he would cut loose ties before they had a chance to cut him. That plan had worked out perfectly in his head, though the aching emptiness at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. He put it down to the dinner that Elizabeth had cooked for them; smoked salmon was a hard dish to master and it seemed like she needed more practice.

"Keep up," Jack whispered to himself when he saw his boy lagging, face half swathed by shadows as his dreadlocked hair draped over it, bottom lip quivering like he was trying to keep the illusion of bravery.

All he wanted to do was protect his little boy, keep him away from the claws of torture and make sure he was safe, but everything he did backfired. Trying to take him from the ship had led to them being confronted by Barbosa, whilst travelling with him caused a tumble into some unknown witch cavern and a stalking from a predator. It was clear that Jack's life wasn't suited to a little boy, especially someone he never wanted to cause pain to.

The silence was maddening to Will, who had become so used to hearing the sounds of the port and the thundering of industry. Without thinking he squealed for his mother and she quickly picked him up to hush him against her bosom, reminding him that they had to be quiet if they wanted to escape the pirates. Sparrow Boy looked at the show of tender compassion between them, something that he had never experienced and probably never would. It only caused tears to build up in his eyes before he forced himself to look away, into the shadows where the darkness was endless, where he would gaze into once he returned to his Blacksmith and forget the madman Jack.

After what seemed like an age, they finally came to the exit. It was a simple grated hole that Elizabeth had added some time before, hinged so that she could push it aside and help her darling boy out should the need call for it; one of those little necessities of a single mother, really. Sparrow Boy shoved his father aside with his shoulder, his little hands gripping the rusted iron before he gave it a fierce push.

"Careful!" Jack couldn't help the burst of concern as he lunged to help his boy, "You don't want to hurt yourself."

"Back off, I've got this."

The hatred in Sparrow Boy's eyes instantly caused his father to step away, raising his hands so that he showed some form of submission to the child's rule, respective of his boundaries that didn't exist some hours before.

Elizabeth's hand gripped Jack's shoulder comfortingly as Sparrow Boy bent the hinge, his efforts vocalised by grunting whilst the gate screeched open and he found an old tree branch to balance it on. They were both amazed by the child's strength but, deep down inside, they knew he was just trying to prove himself in some way, as if to say that Jack's actions hadn't broken him and he was very much fighting fit.

"Keep Will close to you," the pirate muttered as he brushed past his companion, "These places can be tricky."

"Same to you and Sparrow Boy."

A glance was passed between them before they followed after the child, his eyes fixated on the darkened path in front of him that led straight to the port, empty of pirates as they lay siege to the once quiet town. How many were dying? How many children found their ends at the tip of a blade? Jack could barely think about it as he stared at the back of Sparrow Boy's head, that image of a red bandana still prominent in his mind.

When they had finally reached the port, it wasn't to their raft that the child went for. There was a lovely ship that was untouched by the pirates' pillage, adorned with elegant purple banners and touched by slight luxuries that were unnoticeable to the naked eye, perhaps even to the people who owned it, though Sparrow Boy simply stepped on the wooden plank and cast a glance towards his father.

"Follow Jack to the bedrooms, get settled," he demanded in a choked voice, "Will, you better take the room closest to the exit. Missus Elizabeth, I think you should go with him." He pointedly ignored Jack when he turned back round to the plank, walking up it with a tight frown on his face and a mind directed to steering it away. The trio followed him, but only because they didn't want to find themselves in an argument.

The rooms were large and many. Sparrow Boy took the smallest, a broom-closet that was further away from his father than anything else, whereas the others took up luxurious spaces in which they could rest easy, aware that there were cannons underneath them in case they ran into trouble, fearful that Jack's child was becoming more withdrawn in the face of such hardship.

Sparrow Boy didn't turn up when they started sailing. He didn't join them to watch as the land became a speck on the horizon, nor did he show his face for the better part of three days. Jack was terrified that his son had actually absconded, but his fears were put to rest after a particularly unpleasant check to the bedroom, in which he found himself threatened with another sword and told to keep far away. It hurt, though not as much as it would to know his child was gone.

Tears ran down the boy's face as he busied himself with equipment. He refused to show weakness in front of Jack, not after the pirate had shown such blatant disregard for his feelings and tried to abandon him so…so unceremoniously. Slipping off into the night without a word? Why not have just tied him to an anchor and watched him sink into the murky black depths of the ocean, where he would find greater peace from the pains he went through?

"Where's your son?" Elizabeth asked whilst she tried to clean the dirt from her clothes, the efforts to find female apparel proving futile on that male-oriented ship.

"Same place as he always is. I haven't seen him in a while."

The sadness in Jack's eyes made her feel sorry for him, "He'll come around, Jack. Kids will be kids."

"I don't blame him – I did sort of try to walk out of him, and I suppose you can't really explain that. I don't know. Say, what's little Will up to?"

But despite the change in topic, she could tell he was upset.


	23. Chasing Dreams

Sparrow Boy leaned over the banister in front of him, breathing in the salty sea air and wishing he was back at home. The ship rocked gently on the ocean as they continued on their journey, three of the adventurers forced into it, one of them despairing as he gazed at the forlorn little boy.

A week had passed since their escape from Port Royal. Sparrow Boy had barely said a word to Elizabeth and refused to speak to Jack entirely, branding him the 'worse thing to have ever snuck up on him at night' before he would vanish off into his little broom closet, where he would stay until his father had gone to bed. It was only the three year old William who had the power to rouse his friend from the darkness, his little voice the messenger of hope through the murky depths of his mind, his innocent eyes that ray of sunshine that he needed to wake up every morning. For a few days, Sparrow Boy wasn't sure if he was the right person to be a role model. But when he saw Jack at the end of the hallway one night, cleaning his filthy nails with a sharpened knife and leaning against an old barrel of wine, the child knew that he was the best Will had in the way of male leadership.

So he quickly adapted to the role, which was a surprise for Elizabeth. Rather than having to tend to her tragic tale of a son every waking moment, she found herself pushed aside in favour for the more compatible young boy, a person who could play Will's childish games and actually find joy in them. She had no quarrels of course but, without her son to keep her mind busy, she found it wandering more and more on the husband that sailed those oceans.

Jack, on the other hand, was thankful that Sparrow Boy had something to focus on. What with his recent anger and bereavement it was good, perhaps great that he'd found a sort of brother in Will, someone whom he could relate to and not worry if they were going to leave him. The child was too young to abandon someone. He needed Sparrow Boy more than Sparrow Boy needed him, and that was just how he liked it.

So on that night, when the child found himself without distraction or purpose, it was hard for Jack to watch him gaze out into the ceaseless water, as though he wished he would fall forward and sink beneath the inky depths. Those brown eyes were glinting in the light of a silvery moon and platinum plated stars, barely visible to the pirate as he tried to concentrate on steering. And for the third time, he was confronted with another image.

Sparrow Boy stood on the shores of his home, surrounded by the vast ocean whilst his eyes stayed rooted on the horizon. He was quiet – no longer a shrivelled prune of an infant, that five year old had learnt a thing or two about survival, depicted by the way his hand hovered over his rusted iron sword and his bottom lip was caught between two rows of teeth, silence maddening whereas the boy seemed all too calm. That eerie stillness wasn't natural for such a young man. The way his brown hair fell carelessly over his eyes, drifting aimlessly in the breeze as he stood against it like a stubborn tree-stump; that was the only natural thing about it, and the rest of the scene was closer to Jack's black and white nightmares.

The seas didn't make a sound. Instead they lapped at the child's feet, quiet as a puppy that had been kicked by its owner, whilst Sparrow Boy's own feet sank deeper into the sand below him. Occasionally he would dig his toes in and try to shake some of the shingle, but he would allow himself to be held captive again when he turned his gaze back.

It wasn't as brutal as his other images. Indeed, if there were a choice between the scenes Jack had witnessed, it would be that very one that he would place his son in. But there was an air of melancholy about it, a deep-rooted sadness that couldn't quite be shook, a black and white freeze frame of intense longing that the boy wasn't even aware of. Why the ocean? Why did he wish to be a pirate so, out on the seas where his father was sure to sail?

Sparrow Boy leant further on the banister. He wanted to be able to drop in and have no one say a word, not even a shout to indicate he had ever been there. The Blacksmith was so far from him – his friends Hank Dodge and Windesa, gone, never to be returned to him if the journey kept up like that.

He huffed, falling back onto the solid planks of the deck. That whole incident was his father's fault. If it weren't for Jack being stupid and getting into debts he couldn't pay off, he would still be working the iron of his beloved Blacksmith's shop, ready to make deadly weapons and sell them off to mercenaries and soldiers alike.

"Sparrow Boy?" Jack called after another sip of rum, giving him the famed 'Irish courage' that whiskey gave his shipmates as he turned to face the child. He didn't look up but his ears flexed, ready to hear the message whilst he leant on his arms.

What seemed like an age passed, "Are you listening to me?!"

"Unfortunately."

"Good," another sip of his drink, his words slightly slurred but not enough to seem dishonest, "I don't want you in that broom closet anymore, savvy? You'll take a room near Will's."

"Ah, what a shame I won't be moving."

"You'll do as your old dad tells you."

"Show me my father then, and I'll be sure to relay your message."

"There'll be no reasoning," a spark of anger came across Jack's face, "You'll do as I've told you and I won't take no for an answer."

That earned a spin of Sparrow Boy's heels, his eyes hardened with pure fury so that they hid the mist of sorrow behind them, his thoughts a cyclone in his head as he managed to bark, "No!" it made Jack take another large gulp of his weak rum, just enough to give him courage as he stared into those familiar brown eyes.

"You won't-"

"The only reason I'm still here is because of Will!" he cut his father off as sharply as a katana would his head, "I told him I wouldn't abandon him, and I'll be damned if I turn into you!" whilst they were so gripped in their conflict, they hadn't noticed the dark storm clouds looming overhead, their bellies heavy with the burden of thunder and rain, "I won't be a Sparrow, Jack! I won't be like you! We're nothing but liabilities to you!"

Before the pirate could snap out his retort, an ominous lightning strike forked across the sky. Sparrow Boy squeaked, jumping across the deck to cling to his father's legs. It was a knee-jerk reaction and one that surprised Jack, who was quick to rest his hand on the child's dreadlocked head in a way of comfort.

"It's just a storm, Sparrow Boy."

The child was immobilised by fear. As thunder rumbled across the charcoal black sky, he could only cling tighter to the solid legs that he was wrapped around, nuzzling his head into the muscled calves so he could find some security.

But then he realised that he was hugging the very man he hated, and he quickly leapt from his pitiful spot. Without looking back he pelted towards the solid door which led to his room, thrust it open with his shoulder before he disappeared through it, his tears evident as he left Jack staring dumbstruck after him. What was that? What did it mean?

Sparrow Boy was always scared of storms.


	24. Townlife

Jack chose the place they would dock at, which was unsurprisingly a small coastal town where people knew how to mind their business. They hardly said a thing as the fully ringed pirate stepped down from his ship, swapping that charming smile and a bagful of gold in return for their silence. It was graciously accepted; the woman who took it had the plain features of a spinster on her, the cracked yellowed teeth behind her chapped lips like beauty compared to the white of her gums, plagued with the plaque of a citrus-less diet.

"I trust we won't be having any trouble?" the pirate affirmed whilst his friends unloaded off the ship, Sparrow Boy sure to throw him a disdainful look before he took young Will's hand and led him to the nearest sweet shop. It was a quaint little thing – just an old shack with a poorly painted 'sweet' sign, the outside swelling with all sorts of barrels that had yet to be opened as the pair glided into the shop.

"Of course not," she replied, throwing a meaningful glance to Elizabeth beside him, "We wouldn't want you and your family to have any undue stress."

"We're not married!" he was quicker to yelp than his female companion, as though the mere thought of marriage kick-started his commitment issues and made him sweat like swine in the slaughterhouse, "Just travelling through. Your workmen; are they good?"

Perhaps Sparrow Boy would be proud to see his father right then, working in unison with the townsfolk so that they could get on the ocean faster, but the child was far too preoccupied with his unspoken little brother. They inspected the colourful treats closely, careful to pick the right ones with whatever money he had found in the broom closet.

Strangely, there had been at least two shillings in his room. Rich people and their odd precautions…

The day passed by peacefully. The boys busied themselves with looking at the town's landmarks, quick to make friends with the local children and find out what they did for fun, whilst the parents were more interested in fixing the damage their ship had received. The hull was covered in barnacles and some of the windows had been broken with rocks, whereas Jack had grown bored one evening and pretty much destroyed one of his doors in a drunken stumble. The workmen deduced it would be simple work, but the price was so outrageous that Jack found himself haggling more than getting anything done.

Elizabeth was stunned – imagine Jack, noted pirate and practical superstar of the seven seas, actually paying for labour rather than just adding to his debts! It was a wonder to her that he hadn't yet pawned off his lucky compass, granted it probably wouldn't fetch a good price for the fact it was 'broken.' She watched in silent amazement as he went about the tasks before she grew bored, and went to go purchase some more clothes that would replace her torn white dress.

"So, you're a Blacksmith?" Sparrow Boy smiled at the doll-like girl beside him, her face perfectly proportioned and her golden hair up in the cutest pigtails. He nodded, unsure of what to say, still watching Will from the corner of his eye as he played with another child more his age.

"Was," he muttered under his breath, "I was a blacksmith. Plans…plans sort of changed, I guess."

"How?"

A smirk came across his tanned features, "I don't know. They just did one day."

She didn't press the matter, instead choosing to ask him about his home and how it came to be that he was travelling. Details were given sparingly if at all, Sparrow Boy hidden behind the mask that came so easily to him whilst the girl's eyes twitched with wonder, complete and utter enthrallment to the mystery child that had just walked into her hometown. Why did he not look at her? Why did he keep one eye to the water? In her head she imagined this great tale, filled with beasts and demons alike as Sparrow Boy stood at the helm of his great ship. A captain. She had met few captains in her lifetime, and even fewer who would fit her age group.

"Well, this's been nice," he said after a while of meaningless small talk, something he detested wasting his breath on, "But, I better get Will back to his mother."

"Is that your father?" the blonde poppet stretched one thin finger towards Jack, his face creased over something the heavily bearded man in front of him was saying and waving his hands like a madman. Hm. Nothing strange there.

"No."

"You look just like him."

"The sea looks like drinking water, but you don't swig it down," he fixed her with a hardened stare, the sort that she hadn't been fixed with before and made her think even more mysterious thoughts about him, "It'd kill you."

An awkward giggle fell from her pinkish lips, "Lots of things can kill you."

"And if you give Jack enough to work with, he'll manage it," with a sigh Sparrow Boy jumped from the bench, giving a quick bellow to Will that it was time for them to go back, "He's hardly parent material."

"What, has he done it before?"

Sparrow Boy froze, unsure of how to answer that question. It was true that he had been in extreme danger since they met but, for the most part, Jack had aspired to keep his health above his own, even with small gestures like giving him his coat on a cold night or helping him get up after a fall. He remembered when they had wandered through Port Royal's smog infested industrial area, where the pirate had kept a tight grip on his hand and made sure he always knew where the boy was. Perhaps, it was true…

But then that constriction came back in his chest as he recalled Jack's hand on the doorknob, all ready to slip out into the darkness without even a word of goodbye. With a straightened back the child looked at him, his gaze harder than ice in the Antarctic before he gave another shout to Will.

"Been nice speaking to you."

It was then that she giggled at him again and placed the most chaste little kiss against his cheek; not embarrassing, but it still made him burn redder than a tomato with sunburn. She skipped away with her brown dress fluttering, her giggle still ringing in his ears when Will gave him that insane grin.

"Shut up."

"She kissed you! You've got girl plague!"

"And if you're not careful, I'll make her kiss you too!" as they walked and chuckled fondly to each other, practical brothers with their pockets bursting with treats, Sparrow Boy suddenly tripped. He steadied himself quickly, but not before a sharp pain ran up his leg and he felt the slicing stab of a knife against his shin. With fear he looked down, seeing a handle poke through the black trousers he wore and feeling his voice go strangely faint when he spoke.

"Are you okay?" Will asked, careful to grip the handle with only a hint of his recklessness and ripping it out from his skin, "That didn't hurt, did it?"

Sparrow Boy bit back a scream, tears in his eyes whilst he replied, "Nope, nope. Never felt any better, actually. Do me a favour? Never rip something out of my skin again? Thanks, Will."

And as they joined the adults, Sparrow Boy didn't think about bandaging it.


	25. Washing

Heat spread across Sparrow Boy's face as he washed. The basin was a new addition, something he had never had before but wanted to learn how to use, if he was going to be a prisoner of his parent for the foreseeable future.

The dirty rag he held slowly fell to his leg, where he had washed away some of the blood and managed to make it more appealing. He smiled; it was almost like a war-wound, the ones that veterans had scored on their faces by ancient battles and things that would make them long remembered. With tenderness he stroked against the mark, wondering whether or not it would scar like those famed warriors' had.

Jack was contemplating his next moves as he steered the ship. His first plan was to head north, sailing until he hit a small island he could call home and start up some sort of life there, though that had since shattered with the turn of events. There would be no vanishing on his little Sparrow Boy, especially after the first time had caused him such heartache. He hadn't said it but Jack could see it – the blind, searing pain that burned from his beating heart, barely capable of keeping his blood pumping and forced to suffer such tragedies in his life.

The pirate heard him cry at night. He heard his son weeping for God to take him, send him away from that nightmare he walked in and punish him for whatever he had done. It caused such hurt to hear him crying so and just knowing that he couldn't hold him, not even for a moment to ease his pain, because Sparrow Boy hated him. And he had a reason to.

What the child didn't know was that, once he had fallen into an uneasy sleep at night, Jack sometimes crept into his room, just to make sure he was actually resting. The pirate would normally sit a little outside the thin wooden door, watching his son whilst his wet face creased in nightmares and he tried to fight back the pain of his situation. It was painful to know he couldn't do anything. It was painful to know that he couldn't caress the features that looked so much like his own, when all he wanted to do was comfort his boy and tell him it would all be okay. He would make it okay.

But he couldn't make it okay. He couldn't turn back time and go back to Sparrow Boy as a baby, the time when he could have actually made a difference to his already difficult life. How it would have been wonderful to rock his angel to sleep, singing him some sort of awful nursery rhyme that would have appealed to his underdeveloped mind, making soft baby noises as he sent him on his merry way to dreamland.

"Keep your eyes open!" Sparrow Boy's voice snapped him out of his trance, which was quickly rectified by his steering the ship away from a huge iceberg and going the completely opposite direction. He looked down to see his son's furious expression on the deck below, his hair dripping down with the previously hot water of the basin as he fixed him with that icy glare.

"You'll catch your death if you stay out here," his father wisely said, granted he wasn't surprised to hear a snort from the boy, "Go inside."

"And how likely do you think that is?"

"Worth a try," Jack shrugged before he turned his gaze upwards, searching the vast expanse of water for any more dangers as his son took up his space on the barrels. An air of tension descended over them but neither looked at one another, didn't even speak whilst the sea breeze caressed Sparrow Boy's wound, so biting that he likened it to his mother's slap.

But of course, Jack had to ruin the awkward silence, "I wasn't abandoning you, you know." Sparrow Boy turned to look at him, that familiar fire in his eyes when they clapped upon his father. "It seems like I was, but I wasn't."

"Does it even matter now?"

"It matters to me."

"Well, you're dumb. Just keep steering til we hit land and you can get rid of me for good. Hell, I'll go without you even asking me to."

"I don't…" Jack looked down at the eyes in front of him, so desperate to let the tears flood that he actually had an itching to cry himself, "I'm not trying to get rid of you, Sparrow Boy. I'm trying to keep you safe." Ringed fingers rattled against the wheel as he clasped his hand around it, looking away so he didn't have to gaze in those pained eyes again, "You would've been safer with Lizzie."

Another snort as the boy turned to the sea, his arms propped up on the banister so he could rest heavily on them, "Yeah, til those pirates turned up and slaughtered us in our sleep. Great plan, Captain."

"Not really part of it."

"Yeah well, meeting you wasn't part of my plan. Ever think about what I wanted to do?" blazing eyes met placid ones, hands gripping banisters and wheels as the two clashed in an almost telepathic battle.

"What did you want to do?"

Sparrow Boy wasn't prepared for that question. He had expected a rebuke from his father, something that would lead to one of their trademark arguments and end in them storming off to their separate accommodations, where they remained separated until things forced them together. With a huff he turned back around, nuzzling his face into the white fabric of his shirt.

"Doesn't matter now."

"See, you're saying it again; it's always going to matter, Sparrow Boy. You're not going to be a pirate forever."

That made the child freeze before he slowly stuttered, "W-why?" he felt the white hot tears in his eyes suddenly dripping down his cheeks, as though his father had just stabbed him in the chest and torn his failing heart out.

"Because you don't want to be one."

"I…I…" he stepped off the barrel as if he were in pain, awkwardly placing his feet on the floor to stop the throbbing ache of his cut, "You're…you're right. I'd never make a good pirate."

"Of course you would. You're a Sparrow. Piracy's in our blood. But-" he watched whilst his son slowly walked off to the door, ready to turn in for the night as he covered his tearful face, "Where're you off to?"

His reply was sharp, "Just shut up Jack. Bother me when you've actually got something important to say." With that he was gone, swallowed up by the familiar blackness of the lower deck and leaving Jack all alone, knowing that something was wrong.

But he just thought to himself, _I'll see him when he's sleeping._


	26. Save Me

The next day brought with it the bleak morning sun, breaking on a baby pink horizon that gave Sparrow Boy no illusion of hope. He watched as the orb rose from its chains and began to stroke everything in sight, as though it were a parent picking up their fallen child, as though their ship still had some fight left in it.

But the warmth was something he needed. Like a dog just woken from death, he shook the cobwebs of a restless sleep from himself and walked to the banister, where he proceeded to lean so he could watch the dolphins jump.

It was then that he noticed something else on the horizon. Subtle, grey; a blob of a misinterpretation on the bank of all creation, slowly sailing towards them with what looked like cannons aimed. His eyes grew wide with alarm before he darted to his father, who was busying himself with the steering and trying to get his mind off of the night's conversation.

"Pirates," Sparrow Boy softly hissed into his ear as he slid past him, arming his tiny arms with a cutlass and katana like he were riding into battle, the only piece missing from his garb being the hallowed horse of all great legends.

Jack turned his eyes to clap it onto the boat, unmistakably that of merciless marauders, which was alarm enough to make him spring for his own weapon and call to fair Elizabeth below deck.

"Keep Will down there! Pirates!"

She walked through the door in her thin nightclothes. With a bemused smile she drank her glass of water, sceptical that Jack had been seeing right, certain that his fear for his son was causing him to misjudge every ship they sailed past. Sparrow Boy fixed her with an icy gaze that could have chilled her very blood before he barked his confirmation, the weapon in hand shaking as the fear glinted in his eyes.

"Keep him safe!" he hissed whilst pushing her back into the ship, suddenly upon her as though he was never standing beside his father, "If we make a wrong move, it could be trouble!" the words were etched with the unique tinge of fear, something that lay so strongly within that courageous little boy that it was a wonder he hadn't succumb to it, hadn't bent under the sheer weight that was his own mind.

But she was gone to her child before she could think any more of it. Armed with her own sword and changing into the trousers that she wore more comfortably, Elizabeth transformed from soft mother-figure to fierce pirate Queen, something to be feared and avoided when she found herself at the pit of a brawl.

Jack looked at his gentle-featured little boy with a sort of concern, "Go with her."

"What, and leave you here to face them alone?" Sparrow Boy looked at his father as he re-joined him on the deck, his details and expression so alike to Jack's that it was physically terrifying, "I'm not letting you die here. Not without a fighting chance." With that, he turned to face the ship fast approaching.

There were dozens of men waiting on the deck. He noted the dirt-streaked faces of what looked like criminals – criminals that he had seen in his youth, so perhaps not criminals at all – and the ugly inflictions of scurvy, scars and cracked teeth. Lifeless eyes raked over the pair standing so soundly beside one another, father and son, men of the sea.

"Aye," the captain growled as he laid his hand on Sparrow Boy's shoulder, an action that was met by an awkward glance but no violent shake, "What's this?"

A man draped in gold walked to meet him, his royal demeanour doing no favours for his squalid crew and ragged ship of splinters and drift wood. He smiled to show shining gold teeth wedged in rotting black gums, the greyness of his hair accentuated by the glowing green of his eyes, the wrinkled face like leather that had been stretched and dipped in acid. Sparrow Boy wanted to recoil in disgust. But the hand on his shoulder gripped when it felt the slightest hint of a flinch, which he was grateful for.

"Yer travelling with a fine ship," his voice was wizened with what the child assumed to be age, "O' course, yer can't be having too many riches on ye, else someone might've taken 'em." His eyes glinted when they fell upon the miniature Jack Sparrow, so solid beside his father that he could have been a statue.

The pirate was quick to respond whilst his hand gripped his wheel, "No riches on board. All buried." That smile he forced was sickening, unnatural – it unnerved Sparrow Boy to look at it and he had to remind himself of their delicate situation, of the little boy that stayed under the deck. He had to keep his head.

"Buried, ay?" he grinned before gesturing to his crew, who instantly sprang into action. Out came the hidden men, the ones on ropes that swung from the mast, the wooden planks and the sound of battle, so normal for Jack but so alien for his son. They had little time to fathom their spot before they were surrounded by ugly faces, some of which were pawing at Sparrow Boy in the interest of having a new slave.

Jack was quick to stand in front of his child, "We ain't got any treasure on board. It's all buried on the next Isle over. Go there – here be the map for it."

Sparrow Boy hated the way his father dialect changed in front of certain people, but he supposed it couldn't be helped. So long as it kept little Will safe, it didn't matter.

The man took the map from his father's waiting hands. With a quick glance he checked over it, noting the hastily made crayon lines and the way it was written on a scrap piece of paper, until finally an appreciative noise fell from his lips. Sparrow Boy let the breath out that he didn't know he'd been holding. Then he slid in front of his father just in time to block a sword strike, forcing it back and sending the attacker sprawling.

The place erupted into fighting. Jack was swallowed up by the writhing bodies of furious men whilst Sparrow Boy fought his own assailants, his grunts heard above theirs as he turned into an unstoppable machine. He twisted on his heels, performed pirouettes and blocked each attack that came to him, save one that managed to cut his non-bearded face and the kick to his bad shin.

With ease he brushed past one of the injured men, kicked and damaged, perfectly defeated as he moved on to his friend and slowly cleared the path in front of him. There was a small glimpse of his father before it was gone again, surrounded by the flash of rags and blackened teeth that Sparrow Boy found himself drenched in.

Suddenly, the men dispersed. The child tried to chase after them but was rewarded by another kick to the shin, bringing him to one knee as he gripped it and tried to look up. He saw why they had fled – his father was clapped in chains, rusted over his tanned skin as he screamed to his son, told him to stay back. Sparrow Boy's eyes went wide. He was immobilised by the pain in his leg and for a moment, all his hatred went away, replaced by the soft eyes of the boy that had hugged his father during a storm, that had sought shelter in his arms and found amazement in his stories. Jack's son returned to the shell Sparrow Boy was.

"Too bad fer yer," said the man in gold, his hands clasped over an old revolver that was pointed at his father's head. Braided beard trembled unnoticeably as he imagined being sent to Davy Jones' locker again, though he kept an indifferent face for the boy watching. "Yer 'bout ta be an orphan, boy!"

It was then that the child found his eyes on Jack's own gun, placed beside him as though it were a sign. Without thinking Sparrow Boy picked it up, aiming it despite the fact he had never held such a weapon before, breathing hard through his mouth and parted lips as he fixed him with his most terrifying of glares.

"Drop it!"

The man in gold turned the gun to him, which prompted Jack to struggle and shout his protests.

"Best not be doing that, boy."

"I said drop the damn gun!"

"And why? Yer get yerself in a bit o' a pickle here – I'm going ta be killing yer dad, whether the circumstance change or no."

Sparrow Boy felt tears sting his deep brown eyes, "Drop the weapon…drop it, or I'll shoot. Drop it now!" the man cocked his gun as the child's hands trembled, struggling to keep it trained at his head what with his arms being so fragile.

"And I'd hoped this'd be easy."

"NO!"

A shot sounded. Someone fell down. Neither person's gun smoked. It was Sparrow Boy left trembling on the deck, suddenly aware that another ship had sprung up beside his. He turned. He was confused.

"I'd hoped we wouldn't meet like this again, Jack."

The person speaking was another man, cleaning off the barrel of his gun with laughter in his brown eyes. His beard was a nice goatee and the hair of his head neither gone nor thinning, though Sparrow Boy didn't care about anything except the fact he still stood.

"You know the deal, mate," Jack's smile was wide to hide his surprise, "We see each other when I'm needing you."

"Still haven't changed from the last time I saw you," with that, the nimble man leapt from his ship and landed beside the boy who trembled so, laying a hand on his shoulder with the gun still pointed at the pirates. "You'll be releasing my friend now."

And they did so without quarrel. Quicker than his mother throwing her clothes off, they released Jack and pushed him over the wooden plank to his ship, where Sparrow Boy ran and wrapped his arms around him, letting his composure fail whilst his father stroked his head.

"It's okay boy," he soothed softly as he shook the other man's hand, granted his attention was always on his son, "I'm fine."

"Don't do that again. Just…just don't do that to me again, okay?" the tears wouldn't stop once they had started, like a fountain leaking over his face or a waterfall down a gorge, each one with the never ending strength of his sobs.

"Friend?" the other man mouthed, which Jack answered with, 'Son' before he turned back to him, soothing him as quietly as Elizabeth soothed young Will. Soon enough, he fell to head height with the boy who hugged his waist so tightly, enough to feel the soft hair as he locked his neck into a vice-like grip.

"Son," he said cautiously, pulling his arms from him and wiping the tears away, "This man? He's Will. He's…he's a friend from a long time ago." Sparrow Boy turned to him, quick to regain the composure he had so foolishly lost.

"Thank you."

"That's no problem, little man."

He nodded, content with the answer before he turned back to his father, who he quickly pulled down to whisper, "He's Elizabeth's husband, isn't he?" when his theory was confirmed, he pointed to the door, "Your wife's in there. Your son is too. I think you should go down to them."

It seemed Sparrow Boy had inherited father's amazing tact…

But even though William Turner was suddenly alight with confusion and rushing towards the door, the child stopped his father from moving. Instead, he placed the gun in his hands with a sort of flourish, the smile on his face soft.

"This is yours."

"Thanks," Jack placed it back in the holster with a sort of concerned frown, "You're okay after that, aren't you?"

Sparrow Boy nodded, his hair flailing wildly on his head, "I'm fine, D…D…" suddenly he felt the world whirling, the ground rushing up to meet him as he stumbled, feeling faint despite the rush of adrenalin that still pumped through him. Jack shouted but it sounded far off, distant. What had happened?

The cut on his leg started throbbing.


	27. Turning

Jack cradled Sparrow Boy's head to his chest, careful to keep him comfortable on the luxurious bed they sat on, ringed fingers gripping into the dreadlocked hair with his legs tucked under him and his lips on the white forehead of his son. His skin was cold. His speech was slurred and delirious as though he weren't talking to his father, but people who weren't there.

"Shhh," the pirate managed to choke whilst placing the boy against his shoulder, rocking backwards on his toes because he didn't know what else to do, "You'll be okay. I'll make it okay." He was surprised to see beads of sweat trickling down his child's face, since the chill of his skin felt cold enough for icicles to form. Instantly he wanted to open windows but, at the same time, he didn't want to let the little boy go, in case he woke up and thought that Jack was abandoning him in his hour of need.

Will and Elizabeth's reunion had been a happy one. They were blissfully unaware of the trauma their friend was going through, playing with their own little child and letting him get to know the father that sailed beneath the seas, granted that Jack didn't particularly want their 'help.' He wanted Sparrow Boy to be okay. He wanted to see those soft brown eyes again, the ones that glinted perfectly in the moonlight and shone like the sun at dawn.

His thoughts were all but focused as he pulled a wet rag from the wash basin beside him, stood on a sturdy bedside table that had been so graciously donated by the previous owners of that ship. The beads of sweat joined with the rivers of water but it didn't help; Sparrow Boy still mumbled incoherently under his breath and his cut swelled where Jack had ripped the trouser leg open. It was hideous to see the thick dried blood pulsating under the throb of infection, looking as though it were something out of a horrible nightmare rather than his little boy's leg.

How had it happened? Sparrow Boy seemed so sure of himself, so careful with things that it was almost impossible for him to get hurt. Jack remembered the way he had defended himself in battle – that skill didn't come so naturally to children unless they had experienced it before, which meant that his son knew a thing about survival. He had walked a dangerous life in his little village. Why, then, did he lay there limply in Jack's arms, like a ragdoll without a purpose?

The renewed fire within Jack was to protect his son. He had decided that no matter what happened, he would strive to rid this horrible infection from his boy's body, even if that meant doing questionable things in the process. He'd hurt people before. He'd been the reason some people died. That wasn't going to happen with Sparrow Boy, not if he could help it.

Deeply within the haze of his illness, Sparrow Boy was aware of everything. He saw his father sitting on the bed, heard him whispering that he'd strive to make things better, watched as he ghosted fingers over the burning white cheek and ended it with a kiss to his forehead. Everything made sense. Nothing made sense. He wanted so much for things to add up in his mind and the truth to be revealed to him, but he couldn't deny that Jack's comfort made him feel better.

"You're my boy," the pirate whispered whilst he continued to pat down his son's head, "You're my boy, and I'm not letting you go so easy. You're going to beat this, savvy? You're going to beat this because I know you can, because you give me a hard enough time that I know you can beat anything. Don't prove your old dad wrong this time. Show me you're strong. Show me you're strong enough to deal with this."

Sparrow Boy seemed to roll his head to the side in response, his fingers aimlessly wandering from his sides to pat Jack on the nose. With a murmur he whispered something – something that _almost _sounded like 'shut up' but came out as more of a 'shup.' The infamous captain could only smile as he caught the fingers in his own, locking them together like it was the best thing in the world.

His voice shook when he whispered, "Don't talk to your old dad like that, boy." and for a moment, he waited for the usual response of, 'don't call me boy, Captain.' It never came. All that sounded was the heavy breathing of Sparrow Boy fighting back infection.

Time passed silently. Jack wasn't even aware of it when Will walked in behind him, his own hands clasped over the squirming little bundle that was his three year olds and grinning like a madman. The smile disappeared as he noticed the mass in Jack's hands, so deathly still, white as a sheet that was draped over a ghost.

"What's wrong?" the strong British accent roused his friend from his deep pit of despair, though it wasn't enough to make him turn.

"He's got a cut," it sounded so pathetic, "He's got a cut, and it got infected. I don't even know how it happened. He never said anything about it." Will fidgeted uncomfortable in his father's hands before turning his brown gaze to the pirate, his bottom lip caught between bucked front teeth.

The words come out smaller than he intended, even with his volume control problems, "Sparrow Boy fell on a knife. He was hurt. We took it out but…"

Jack simply brought his ringed hand up with a flourish. Nothing mattered; explanations would only serve to make him angry. He didn't want to hear excuses. He wanted to know why Sparrow Boy was the one who always got hurt, why it was always his little boy who seemed to have the worst luck.

"What're we going to do?" William asked after what seemed like an age. He was rewarded by a shrug and an even tighter squeeze on Sparrow Boy's still form, because Jack just didn't know what step to take. It was then that he remembered the book from Elizabeth's house, with all the strange runes and Latin and Italian scribbled in, the one that his son had so religiously clasped to his person before they were forced apart. It was a long shot but, perhaps…

Jack rose from his spot after he had laid down the boy, quick to bound towards the steering wheel and turn it straight back in the direction they came. Elizabeth rushed up to stare wildly at him.

"What do you think you're doing?"

The pirate winced; the way her voice became so shrill was something he hadn't missed, "We're going back to Port Royal."

"And just why would we do that?!"

"Because, my dear Liz," his gaze never wavered from the unbroken back of the watery beast, "Sparrow Boy needs me."


	28. The Book

**A/N; I'm taking a few suggestions for this story in the way of Jack and Sparrow Boy's relationship - nothing that'll change the plotline, but I'd like to know what you guys would like to see :) I'd take any suggestions and try to implicate them :) Thanks!**

* * *

The ship rocked gently on the water as they made their way back, fearful for the state of Port Royal and what they might find there. Jack cared little for the port; all he cared about was getting his hands on that book, hoping that it might restore his hardened little boy.

Sparrow Boy hadn't recovered in the three days he had taken ill. There were no words escaping his thin mouth by that time, nothing coherent or loud as the sickness ravaged his body, but there were odd occasions in which he could eat and drink and actually move on the bed he was forced to stay in. Those moments filled Jack with hope. But they were gone almost as quickly as they had arrived, leaving the broken husk of the child he travelled with.

When they finally came closer to Port Royal – or, at least, its tattered remnants – Jack was filled with a deep sense of duty towards his son, heartache weighted heavily in his chest as he tried to keep a level head about things. Sparrow Boy had tried to call him Dad before he fainted. He knew it, deep down in his heart, and he couldn't quite tell if he was uncomfortable with the idea.

The port was shattered. What used to be boats drifted aimlessly in the water, burnt and abandoned, whilst the remains of what could only be assumed to be a house stood where a mansion once did, the residents long since gone. Industry? That had vanished with its little workers, none of the same life running around that suddenly clear town as Jack quickly descended from the ship.

Elizabeth was shocked. She had no love for her home after William had left it, no sense of belonging to the powdered ladies and snot nosed little brats that she had been forced to acquaint with, but she hadn't wanted this. The way that everything looked so burnt, so…so…_empty._ It were as if no one had ever lived there. It were as if she had imagined all the people that she once smiled at, even if they were the most repugnant demons she ever laid eyes on.

"It looks different," William mused whilst rocking his son on his hip, eyes fixated on the broken port in front of them, "From when I last saw it, I mean. It looks…it's changed."

"It wasn't that different a few days ago. You know Jack." She rolled her eyes as though the scene didn't bother her but, deep down, they both knew it did. They watched as Jack strode confidently down the path with a determined look on his face, the boy he loved in mind whilst he travelled towards the derelict mansion Elizabeth once owned.

Sparrow Boy felt himself convulsing. He threw up all down the white sheets of his father's bed, suddenly full of life as he rolled on his knees and vomited out the remaining touches of his infection. His body was on fire – everything ached, and he just didn't know where he was for a few moments. The curtains, the windows, the overwhelming stench of death…

_Port Royal._

There was a moment in which everything went slow motion. Sparrow Boy leapt up with the energy of a child, though the cut in his leg stopped him from running. With lofty hurriedness he walked out on deck, spying the broken remains of the port and Elizabeth's old home as he did so, the husband and wife joined by their tragic son whilst they watched some scene in front of them. He walked to them, which startled them enough to make him chuckle with pain.

"Where's Jack?" he asked once he'd stopped coughing, his sides throbbing as though he had just been punched in the ribs, "He's…he's not…"

"He went back out to our house," Elizabeth found the word 'our' slipped out so easily that it was almost like William had never left, despite his inability to step out on the mainland, "He went back to get the…the book. For you." She added the last part with intent, trying to show the boy that Jack actually cared for him and he should have been much more appreciative of it.

The child looked awful. His skin was still white with the lack of health and the sallowness of his face was horrifically noticeable, though none of them wanted to say so. Their friend's son was certainly on the mend – the fire was reignited in his eyes as he leaned towards the plank, set to walk off of it and go search for his father.

"Don't," it was Will who stopped him with an arm across his torso, "You're too weak to be on land."

"You might not be able to follow him, but I can," the child fired back before he removed his restraints, that same passion in his heart as he took unsteady steps on his feet, the throb of his cut dulling in light of his new pains. Elizabeth called after him but it was too late; he was already rushing down to follow Jack, running like he wasn't in immense pain and it didn't knock the little wind he had left in him.

He rounded the corner nimbly and entered the broken house with a smile on his face. The exotic plants were smashed and trampled on the ground whilst Elizabeth's possessions were gone – robbed or broken, he didn't care which – but Sparrow Boy just looked for his father amongst the shattered glass, eager to show him that he was alright. He had beaten it.

"Ah, lad," the haunting voice made him freeze. He gulped noisily, terrified to turn around, worried that it would confirm his fears and there would be a madman standing behind him, with a gun cocked at his slightly ruffled dreadlocks and a hand on his father's cuffs. "Yer think yer clever, comin' back to the scene o' the crime?"

"Well, I'm pretty clever."

"Smart mouth, I see. Jack, ain't yer boy a bit young fer that talk?" Sparrow Boy took that moment to turn around. His father was locked in the cuffs that he had envision, surrounded by three burly pirates as Barbosa paced in front of him and twirled his gun in his hand, not quite aimed at the child but probably just seconds away from it.

The pirate smiled softly at his son, "My boy's a Sparrow."

"And the Sparrows ain't a bunch I want sailin' round."

"You've got two on the seas," Sparrow Boy narrowed his eyes as if in challenge, taking a threatening step towards them despite his ailments, "Two Sparrows, both pirates."

Barbosa smiled. It was a kind of sickening smile, the sort that was seen on a murderer the night before a kill, the sort on a mother who was about to get rid of her baby. The scraggly grey beard hung loosely from his chin as he chuckled, his gun against Jack's head to see the boy's reaction. He didn't move. He was waiting for Barbosa to make a wrong move so he could save the day, though he didn't see one happening soon.

"Feisty little pet," two arms were pinned back by four hands, so large that Sparrow Boy knew they could smother him if they had a mind to. He yelled, but it was Jack's voice that was louder.

"Leave him be!"

"What fun would that be? I've got what yer both want – this little book, savvy?" they looked up to see the black cover in his hands, granite, familiar. Sparrow Boy kicked out so he could grab it but the restraints pulled back on him, keeping him solid on the floor and alerting Barbosa to the wound on his leg. His eyebrows rose though he said nothing.

The boy's voice was squeaky, "Give me back the book!" there was a giggle from the burly men behind him, quietly silenced by their leader's glare. Jack smirked under his braided beard.

"Oh no. First, yer both comin' with me."


	29. My Darling Broken Boy

There was darkness. Sparrow Boy struggled valiantly against it, his words loud as he kicked out furiously at the chains that held him, his back sore due to the bite of the wooden chair he sat on.

Barbosa so wished he had fitted a gag on him, if only because he was starting to get a raging headache from all the shouting. The child was certainly a feisty one – Jack was probably proud of how troublesome he had grown to be, even in the absence of a father and making do with what he had available.

"Shut it!" one of the pirates slapped Sparrow Boy's chair to silence him, though it did nothing to quell his screams, "This one's headin' for a sword to the throat."

"Can't be having that," their leader was far calmer in his manner. He showed no irritation as he paced on the splintered floor of his ship, unaware that Will and Elizabeth were still waiting for the pair to return, not caring for Sparrow Boy's comfort as the child kicked out against them.

It was almost like watching a younger Jack. His hands thrashed about wildly though restrained and tied behind him, and the fire in his eyes was nearly visible through the fabric of his blindfold. The chair rattled violently under him whilst his voice shouted to high heaven, screaming that he was going to make Barbosa regret taking him. Bruises lined his sallow face where he had been roughly beaten for information, information he didn't have and didn't want to give anyway, which had made Jack struggle even more violently so he could save his boy.

"Get your hands off him! Get your hands off him!" the pirate had screamed as Sparrow Boy fell to the ground again, taking the hits as gracefully as he would take a present. It was a great mercy that he wasn't crying; the bruises burnt but, in the face of his father's enemies, he wouldn't make himself seem weak.

They were separated soon after that. Barbosa had decided that Jack would be more likely to comply after a 'trial separation' from his son, where the pirates had so generously taken the boy onto his boat and left his father lying in the mud outside Elizabeth's house, unconscious, unprepared for the hit that made him that way. So there Sparrow Boy sat, alone and apart from his father, barely recovering from his infection whilst under the huge amount of stress that came with a kidnapping.

"You'll regret taking me, Barbosa! He'll come get me!" the boy was shouting despite the hoarseness of his voice, "He'll come get me and they'll kill you! Mark my words, I'd do it myself if my hands weren't tied!" a smirk came across his bearded face, since the child was so confident in his words. How was he sure Jack would come after him? How could he know that the most untrustworthy pirate in the world would save him? There was very little evidence to his claims, save that Jack may have felt some loyalty to his only son, some sense of responsibility. That was a very, very small chance though.

"And what makes ye think that, lad? Jack ain't the sort to run after his leeches," he sat in the seat just across from the boy, eyeing the nasty gash on his leg like he was actually concerned for it, "Yer hurt."

"Thanks, Captain Obvious."

"Smart mouth comin' out ta play. How'd ye manage such a wound?"

"Knife accident," another smile across his face, if only because he was thinking about William, "Bad knife accident."

"Jack ain't a good father if he be lettin' you play with knives. 'Course, we ain't too concerned about that, are we?" Barbosa smiled at the roguish thug next to him, who had been a recent addition to his crew. Without putting too much of the credit on himself, the leader had managed to recruit him during their siege of Port Royal, sometime after he had killed a woman that they believed to be his wife and set his own baby down on the last horse cart out of there. His one eye peered darkly at the boy in front of him, almost dripping with anger as he waited for the kill.

Sparrow Boy gulped noisily in front of him, his throat convulsing with the weight of the bile in it, "Oh, and I suppose you're the pinnacle of fatherhood? How many kids you got, Barbosa?"

A smirk, "None, lad."

"Jack didn't have any either. He didn't have any until you came along and showed him me. Does that make him bad? No, because he took me away and tried to make me safe. I just…I didn't see it at the time."

"That's a good argument boy, but yer think Jack's comin' for ya? Ya have faith?"

"I don't have faith. Faith says there might be a chance it won't happen, but you trust it will. I know Jack's coming for me. He's…he's promised me before. He promised me." Faintly, far off in the distance, Sparrow Boy could remember a song being hummed into his ear, something that he remembered to be 'My Darling Boy.' That thought alone brought a smile to his face and light in his eyes.

Jack was beginning to wake up in the dirt. A hand was violently shaking his shoulder, a voice louder and more piercing than the Kraken ringing in his ear as the world flooded into his eyes, distorted, broken.

"Jack! Jack, wake up!" Elizabeth was frantic at the pool of blood she saw on the ground, "Sparrow Boy's gone! Jack, did he attack you?!" the pirate looked up through the haze, trying to distinguish what was sky and what was his companion's lovely face. It was sudden that his memory kicked back into gear, the thought of his son being dragged away by those villains at the front of his mind as he jumped to his feet.

There was a silence between them whilst tears stung his eyes, though they didn't fall. He wouldn't let them. If he had been brought into that world screaming, he wouldn't do it again until he was being taken out of it.

"Barbosa! We've got to follow him!" he was on his feet and barely capable of walking, but that didn't stop him from rushing to their ship.

"What do you mean?!" Elizabeth called, running after them with fistfuls of her dress in hand, "What're you talking about?!"

"He took my boy!"

"Jack, we've got to think this through," Will tried to stop him when he exploded onto the deck, a beeline directed to the ship's wheel as his concerned friend tried to calm him, "Barbosa could be anywhere. He could have already hurt Sparrow Boy by now; for all we know, he's kill-"

"Don't say that, Will. I won't hear that about my son."

"You've got to face the facts. We don't know what's going on."

"I know he's not dead. I feel it," his hands gripped the wheel without complaint, the rings digging into him although he didn't pay it heed, "And I'm not leaving him behind. I've made that mistake. He's a Sparrow – he's my boy." And under his breath, he whispered, "My Darling Boy."


	30. Dodged

Sparrow Boy stayed still on his chair. He didn't know where he was and it had been some time since someone came to him, spoke to him; he was wondering whether or not he should have bothered with shouting when something like a door creaked open, a merry tune that he remembered on the lips of whoever walked in.

"I can't believe it! It's you!" that voice! He remembered that voice, yet he didn't think he would have heard it again, "I thought you were dead! Ah, Sparrow Boy!" two arms wrapped around his neck as though they wanted to break it, the squeak from the captive's mouth showing that he had no idea how such a person came to him.

_It must be someone playing a trick on you,_ he thought as the person continued their hug, _this can't be him. It's a lie. He's…he's lying to you, it makes sense!_

But then he felt his words come out without his permission, "Dodge?!"

The mask came off. Instantly a dull light flooded into his eyes, produced by a candle that was flickering to the side of him and a small porthole that they had tried to black out, whilst the rest of the room slowly faded into his vision. Hank's dirty face drifted from the darkness as Sparrow Boy blinked back his tears, shock rattling through his body when he gazed at the child he thought he'd never see again.

"I can't believe it! You're alive! How did you escape the prison?!" the restraints were loosened on his wrists, "How did you manage to get all the way out here?!" Sparrow Boy's hand instantly clasped his friend's upper arm, his breath ragged as he rose to his feet and felt the throb of his cut again.

"We have to get off this boat, Dodge. I…I'll explain everything but right now, we have to get back to Jack!"

"Jack? Who's Jack? Christ Sparrow Boy – that cut!" he pointed to the gash that lined his friend's shin, so swollen that it looked blue, granted that he wasn't too fussed about the colour.

"Come on, you don't know Jack?! The pirate you used to fawn over? My namesake? Don't be an idiot Hank!" it was rare that his real name was used, and when it was it normally meant something bad was about to happen. Sparrow Boy's eyes were wild as he dragged him towards the splintered door, his bare feet stabbed with a thousand tiny splinters before he found his shoes and tried to slip them on.

That was when Dodge finally clasped his friend's wrist and squared up to him, "We can't leave, mate. I'm not going anywhere. There's nowhere else for me to go if I do. The village..."

A soft memory flooded into their minds. They recalled jumping through the trees of their home sometime in their infancy, when the problems of the world were far from them and the only things they thought about were their games, each one new, each one with its own hint of a future. Dodge would disappear behind the forest for brief moments when Sparrow Boy had hurt himself, only to return with his favourite wild berries and eat them beside the lake as a sort of picnic. They were brothers then. Those times had made them brothers, no matter what blood ran through their veins.

"What happened to it?"

"It was totalled, Sparrow Boy. I mean…everything's gone. Windesa was sold to the slave trade and died with her new owner. Mum was killed with her own kitchen knife."

"And…the Blacksmith?" tears pricked his eyes, "What happened to him?"

Hank Dodge remembered the events. He had surfed through the throngs of blood and guts before him, dived between the burning buildings and chaos until he finally reached the tavern, where he had seen Windesa being stolen away. The whores ran screaming as the child pushed through them, but he froze when he saw the scene.

Fire. Fire was…everywhere. And in the middle of the dancing flames, licking the wooden structure of the tavern with its fiery tongue, was the Blacksmith, impaled on a sword with one name on his voice.

Sparrow Boy's.

"You don't want to know what happened there. I don't even want to know, and I was there. Just…just don't go running off, okay Sparrow Boy? My boss just wants you to get the Black Pearl, and then he'll leave you alone! It's a win win situation."

The child brushed his friend's hand away from him before staring into his eyes, wondering if he was serious with what he had just said. Did he really think that was a winning combination? Did he really trust Barbosa? Wait…was Barbosa his _boss?_

"Are you being stupid for a reason or is it just a new thing you're trying out?" the glare was icy as he spoke, "Barbosa's going to kill Jack if he gets his hands on him, and me if I let him. The Black Pearl? Does that thing even exist?!"

"Course it does," Hank replied sullenly, his arms crossed on his chest to emphasise his point, "Barbosa said it does. Anyway, Jack's a good pirate. He can get out of things by himself. You've just got to help us get the Pearl and we'll be on our way, okay?" there was a flicker of hope in his eyes as he gripped hold of Sparrow Boy's hand, that brotherly affection pulsating at his fingertips and that need sparkling in his eyes, "Please, Sparrow Boy. It's not too much to ask."

There was a split second of silence between them. The famed blacksmith took his friend's hand lightly, that smile on his face that made him relax…before he pushed him and rushed towards the door. That was Hank? How had he managed to change so? How had the dark haired criminal mastermind managed to transform himself into a sheep, barely able to understand that Barbosa was actually an evil killer and his father was just a hapless pirate, with much of his treasure being found entirely on accident?

Jack was leaning on the steering wheel, having not slept in over twenty four hours. His dry lips mashed together as he remembered his son's innocent face, so soft when he had cradled it in his hands, so gentle when he sang 'My Darling Boy' and tried to help him through the infection. Tears pricked his eyes when he imagined Barbosa's harsh treatment of the little boy he didn't want hurt, how he was sure to have been stabbing every inch of him with his sword's tip.

There would be no losing Sparrow Boy. Not until he had called Jack 'Daddy.'


	31. Things Change

"Yer a troublemaker Sparrow; I'm ashamed that ye tried ta run off from our hospitality."

"Well, I kind of wish that I'd managed to get further than the banister," Sparrow Boy sheepishly admitted whilst his hands were tied to the mast, his arms above his head as the ropes slowly pulled him up, "Then we wouldn't be having this little problem."

After the child had run from his original prison, he had managed to make it to the edge of the ship before he discovered there was no way down, nothing that would stop the freezing cold water from killing him. No lifesavers, no escape boats – a pure failure of an escape that was quickly foiled by Barbosa's appearance and a gun to the throat. That was how Sparrow Boy found himself in his situation, being slowly pulled up by rough ropes to dangle over the mast, his feet lolling idly as he felt his arms slip in and out of the sockets.

There was mirth in Barbosa's eyes, "Yer not comprehending yer situation, are ye? We're in charge now; there'll be no escaping on my ship, ya understand?"

He didn't reply. Too much pressure was building up in his arms for him to think about anything, not even the voice of his captor and father's mortal enemy, not even the way the birds were calling as they soared past the blazing orange sun. For a moment his thoughts turned back to home, where he would have been hard at work on a new iron sword or using his skills to entice more customers. There was a flicker of pain in his eyes when he looked down to see Dodge, calmly watching the events in front of him with only a hint of distress.

He was there for a long time, long enough to make his arms feel like lead when he was finally let down. The darkness came and was broken by the sun, a never-ending masquerade of beauty whereas he, ever the precocious blacksmith, could only think about the things he would have made in that time.

Then they led him back to the prison room where he was tied up once more, the ropes even tighter than they had been before and knotted by a face he had once trusted. Cold brown eyes met light blue ones as Dodge went about his task, showing absolutely no signs of remorse.

"I can't believe you'd do this to me Hank," he said in a voice smaller than he had intended, "I thought you were my friend. I thought we were brothers."

"Things change. People change," replied the boy as his eyes flicked to the ropes between his fingers, "I've moved on from the village."

How could he say that? It had happened only a few weeks ago, with all of their friends and family dying before them in a ball of molten fire, granted Sparrow Boy had already been kidnapped. Which reminded him; hadn't Dodge realised that it was Barbosa's fault? That the attack was intended to kidnap Jack's son and not save the little ragamuffins for recruiting?

There was a lopsided grin on Hank's face when he rose back up, pleased with his work, "That should do it." His words were accompanied by his former friend's struggling, a failed attempt to free himself that was met with his captive's giggle.

"This isn't funny. What you're doing is wrong."

"No it's not funny, but it's right. I have to do this so you don't run off and we can get the Pearl. It's rightfully Barbosa's."

"It's Jack's."

"You're arguing a lot for someone you didn't even want to know. What's changed, huh? Why aren't you trying to say he's not your dad anymore?"

That was when Sparrow Boy fixed his darkened gaze onto his captor, "Things change. People change. I've moved on from the village."

Jack was on his first break since his son was stolen, but he found very little comfort on it. There was a darkened crescent moon under each of his eyes as he watched the unbroken water in front of them, moving them along to a horizon where they could see a ship – Barbosa's, but too far off for them to catch up to it. Elizabeth was kind enough to give him food and water when she wasn't tending to her son but, because she knew how much it hurt her friend, she refused to be out with him where they could be seen, intent on letting the pirate come to terms with his loss.

Of course, he had no intention of doing that. William rode underneath them with his own ship and kept his men prepped for an attack, certain that they would be able to take the boy if they knew he was involved, though he wasn't too intent on starting a fight. He liked Sparrow Boy, but he wouldn't risk his own son.

"Jack," the pirate snapped his eyes up to Elizabeth, her hands full with a tray of food, "You need to eat. You have to keep your strength up."

"Not hungry," he replied before pushing it away, weary eyes cast on the slowly disappearing boat ahead of them.

"Of course you're hungry. You told me a few minutes ago that you were hungry."

"I'm not now."

She sighed before pushing the tray into his hands, knowing that he would eat it if she weren't forcing him to. It had been the same since Sparrow Boy was stolen – Jack was unresponsive to her words and forced himself to look away when Will was on deck, like it caused him physical pain to see the little boy.

"I know you loved him." He looked up with that blank gaze, "I know you loved Sparrow Boy."

"I _love_ him. He's alive."

"Okay, he's alive. But what does that mean, Jack? Are you really about to endanger your own life for him? You told me that you didn't know he existed a few weeks ago; what's changed?! Why can't you just let him go?" there was wonder in her eyes rather than disbelief, her thoughts on how he might answer the question.

And she was surprised when he gazed back at her, those brown irises that were normally so calm suddenly a font of chaos as he softly replied, "Because I can't imagine life without him now."


	32. Sparrow Baby

Sparrow Boy never told Jack about his life. As he sat in that cold prison waiting for his friend to return, the memories flooded back. The regrets did, too. He remembered times when he was truly happy, when the wind was so harsh that he couldn't see the street he walked down. He thought about the birdsong in the mornings. He thought about his mother's cackles when she walked in the door.

Life with a pirate father was a lot like life with a soldier father. They weren't home for large portions of time. When they did come back it was usually with an arsenal behind them, a battalion of people who wanted him dead and would do anything to achieve that wish, even if it meant killing children. Sparrow Boy had once lost hope that his father would return.

Now, that hope had been reignited.

And he could feel Jack coming for him, too. There was a dull ache in his heart that had to be filled, and a touch of lightning in his mood when he looked out into the slightly revealed porthole before him. He saw the sea. It was beautiful as it rocked the ship over the horizon, trying to take its crew and captive cargo away from its rightful owner; Jack, the Pearl, Port Royal.

There was an urge to tell his father everything when they were reunited, but he was unsure how he would react to that. Surely, as his parent, he would be contented to hear about the time he had no part in, eager to listen to the stories of Sparrow Boy and understand how he had come to be so cynical. But then there was that fear, that irrational fear that Jack would turn his back in disgust and he would be alone again, off to face the world in all its cruel glory.

Why did he have that fear? Simple – because there was rarely any happiness in Sparrow Boy's life. A few snippets here and there but ultimately, the child had been living on fumes. One memory that had stayed with him was his mother's words on his third birthday, in which he had been gifted a lovely silver ring from a local jewellers and granted a free drink at the tavern.

"You're not supposed to be happy. Your father wasn't supposed to stay and you aren't supposed to be happy. You're an urchin from a whore. You won't ever amount to anything."

And for so long Sparrow Boy had believed that, it became hard to believe anything else. Even as he grew and took on duties at the local Blacksmith, forcing his way into the world through hard labour, sweat, tears, he realised that there was nothing special about his life, that he was just a drop in the ocean.

Ah, the ocean…

He remembered being five, looking out at the unbroken watery back as he imagined where his father was. That was when he still had the faintest trace of childhood innocent about him, when he hoped that his father had somehow caught wind of him and was sailing back to take him, save him. But even though he stood there for hours, no one came. No one would save him. A little while before his sixth birthday the Blacksmith came across him and, with his heavy hands locked in heavier gloves, he had patted the boy's back, telling him that greatness came to those who waited.

So he became a Blacksmith. That was the end of his tale for the most part, though there were a few more notable conflicts in his life. The first time he had seen a man being hanged. The first time he watched a girl being murdered. The second time he had come across a dead body, with the first being his mother's boss and therefore not quite so traumatic.

But when he was just turning a meagre two, he recalled something that had happened. It was far off and had been inked by the marks of time, but it had still occurred. His mother brought one of her clients round to do her dirty work when he had turned, aware that a small boy was sitting in the corner, dirty as he made do with the grime for toys.

"What's this then?" he had slurred before picking the boy up, the neck of his clothes becoming tight as he was dangled over the broken fireplace, "Looks like a kid. You got a kid?"

And Miss Geneva had replied, "That's not a kid. That's a parasite. That's a leech. You can kick him if you want. It's much more fun than watching him play." The way her lips curled in a snarl made Sparrow Boy furious – furious enough to stand over her that night with a pillow, contemplating what his life would be like as a child murderer rather than an abused boy.

It was sad to remember the only thing that stopped him was an owl cry, which had distracted him long enough to grow bored with his tasks.

Would Jack hear all of those things? Would he hear what Sparrow Boy had gone through and still want him, still love him? He wasn't even sure if his father did love him, since their travels had been limited to the child's venom-like sarcasm. He wouldn't love him. Then again, he had never loved himself to begin with.

Seventh birthday came and went, and with it were the little nuggets of gold that he had mentioned beforehand. The times when he was truly happy. The times when the Blacksmith brought his heavy hand upon his back and told him 'good job.' The times when Hank Dodge would come from his home and they would make some sort of game together, out in the forests or around the steaming springs that they would sometimes soak in. The times he would lie with his back to the sun in the afternoon, reflecting his day and thinking how he could have bettered it.

He had heard stories, about how his father had gone insane on a little island. That explained some of his erratic behaviour. It could also explain why he made those strange faces when telling of his stories, and how he sometimes acted so tender with his son whereas the moment before he had been indifferent.

His heart ached again. He wanted to be back with Jack. He wanted to call him 'Dad' and listen to his calming heartbeat, the same thing he had listened to throughout his illness. That song – that song he had sung when he was falling asleep, he wanted that back.

But he simply sat back in his seat and watched as the darkness shuddered through his gaze, the blindfold leaving him with little else but his thoughts. He hummed the tune on his lips to keep him sane. He remembered things to remind him where he'd come from. Then he thought about Jack, and wondered what would come of that.

"I love you, Dad," he whispered quietly to himself, "Please, come back for me."


	33. Jake Sparrow

Days passed. Hours flitted by. Sparrow Boy stayed in his seat all the way through it, wishing for his father, hoping that he would return soon and save him from that Hell. Dodge was kind enough to bring him food; he smiled as he spoon fed the captive, often remarking how the tables had turned and now it was Sparrow Boy in irons, whereas he was on the side of good.

Jack was in turmoil on his ship, where he had taken to pacing along the banister his son used to lean on and looking out to the grey ball on the horizon, still hot on their heels as though he thought they could catch up. He wouldn't fail his boy. Not again.

There had been dreams. He saw himself in the future, Sparrow Boy on his right side and Gibbs on his left, their voyages across the sea aided by the Pearl and William Turner, though his son had been the integral part in that dream. They were close in it, they were like father and son as they hoisted the sails and tried to coordinate everyone on the ship, off to fight unknown enemies whilst staying loyal to only two people – themselves. It was a wonderful dream. It was a future Jack wanted, and would get by any means necessary.

Jacob. That was the name he'd decided on. When he got his little Sparrow Boy back from Barbosa's evil clutches, he would call him Jacob. Jake, for short. They would be Jack and Jake Sparrow; merciless plunderers of the seven seas, man and boy searching for a purpose amongst men with watery graves.

"You're not doing yourself any favours by pacing," Elizabeth mentioned after an age of watching him, her heart nearly bleeding for the poor man she looked upon, "We've got to keep our heads clear. Sparrow Boy's counting on us."

"Call him Jake," the pirate simply said as he turned back to his steering wheel. He was at the helm without a second glance to his friend, much less the little boy that wriggled on her lap and asked for Sparrow Boy.

The child still sat in his chair, his patience beginning to wane whilst he counted up the days in his head. Almost a week had gone by and there seemed to be no attempts of a rescue. Had Jack really forgotten about him? Was he on his own? The thought made him want to cry, granted he wouldn't do that with his morning watchman on guard. He was too strong to cry.

But then, a miracle. The restraints on his wrists were loosened. He felt a rough hand on his shoulder that yanked him up to his feet and then he was being led out, the splinters on his soles like imp spears as he was dragged from the prison. Cackles sounded all around him, making him wish that his blindfold was removed so that he could stare defiantly at every pirate on board. His father would have been proud of his courage.

"They've stopped!" Jack called to his friend as the sails were lowered, the wind picking up for the first time in a long time, "They've stopped!" his telescope came out before Elizabeth could respond, which only served to make him more nervous.

Sparrow Boy was being dragged from the boat by a rugged pirate, the features of which were unclear to Jack as he watched, horrified that his son was receiving such a rough treatment. He could see the child's feet kicking out at his assailant even though his eyes were covered, his shouts just a tiny bit audible from where his father was staring; he could make out some words, even some phrases.

"Let go of me, sea scum!" he was screaming with hoarse voice, "Let go! I swear to God, I'll slice you all in half when I get out of this mess!" that was before they disappeared through a cave's mouth and were out of Jack's sight.

They went faster with the wind behind them, but it was still too slow for the Captain. He wanted to be with his son sharpish and, with only the power of the wind, they weren't going to be achieving that any time soon. By the time they were finally on the island Barbosa had docked at, Jack was ready to spill blood.

"You stay here with Will and don't come out unless you see me," he instructed whilst he rolled off of the boat, his sword being placed gently into his makeshift belt and his eyes with that same fire of youth, "If only Jake comes out, keep to the code."

She watched him with those big brown eyes as he walked to the cave's mouth, aching to go and help him but knowing it would be too dangerous for her son. The boat beside her sprang out of the water and her husband joined them, the crew behind him silent as they dispersed into their accommodations, ready to take a break from work so that their captain could see their friend off.

"Will," Jack called before he disappeared. His hand was pressed against the serrated edge of the cave as he spoke, like he couldn't believe he was delving into such dangers alone and needed to steady himself for a moment.

The ex-landlubber looked at him with admiration in his eyes, "Aye, Jack?"

"Keep your boy safe. Keep him close to you without fail. Make sure he's looked after. You don't want to be finding yourself in my situation," and with that he had vanished, off into the bleak cave without looking back at his friends, off to save the one thing he thought he would never have. There was silence on the boat as the pair watched after him, their hands still clasped over the boy they loved so much.

"He's going to get himself killed," Elizabeth observed in a barely-even voice.

"It's Jack," her companion replied, "I don't think it's possible to kill him."


	34. Escaped

Barbosa thrust Sparrow Boy on the floor below him, his knees absorbing most of the shock and pain tearing through his body. The blindfold was yanked off at the earliest of opportunities, revealing a huge cavern covered with cobwebs and glittering gold, jewels that the child had never laid eyes on before but suddenly wanted to possess.

Ugly faces jeered as he gazed about, each of the pirates like a disgusting theatre audience in front of him, watching him as though he were the next performance rather than a stolen little boy. How noble were the sea's masters!

"That's it," Jack peered over the edge of the leading hallway, strangely formed by the cave many years before the captain was even born. The shelf-like rock in front of him held his weight barely whilst he watched, intent on saving his son from the clutches of his ex-shipmate, determined not to lose him like he had lost so many others. "Keep your breath steady, lad. Don't let them know you're scared."

Of course, he could see the fear that was twinkling in Sparrow Boy's eyes. The brown depths were alight with it as he gazed at the people in front of him, granted his posture was straight under Barbosa's firm grip.

"Ah yer not afraid?" the pirate hissed into his ear, the breath reaching him before the words did, "Yer 'bout to become a memory, Sparrow. That not make ya scared?" there was a faint glint in his eyes when he turned and smiled, that sickening smile that hid his true face.

"I'm not scared. Being dead is better than smelling your breath again." His words were met with a swift slap to the cheek, his neck almost snapping as his head whipped round and he heard the haughty jeers of the pirates below him. Blackened teeth, slack jaws, torn clothes; it was a sea of horror for most fashion-conscious Frenchmen, and perhaps a few of the more regal Englishmen.

Jack felt his hands grip over the edge of the rocky shelf, but he said nothing. He had to pick his time carefully. Whatever happened between Barbosa and Sparrow Boy then would just have to happen, no matter what he felt about it or how much he wanted to see Barbosa die. The man would pay for what he was doing. But he had to wait.

_Stay calm, Jack._

"What d'ye say, boys?" the pirate suddenly looked at his men with his arms raised, that God forsaken black book locked in his fingers and that crazed look in his eyes, "Should we take a gander at the book and see what the boy's been reading?" he was met with more cheers from his sheep-like crew, each one with a face contorted in raucous pride as they watched the book being opened.

Sparrow Boy's voice was calm as he recited the page Barbosa opened, "Page two hundred and three? That one's boring – try three hundred and forty eight. All the fun's on that one." He was slapped over the head with the rock-like exterior but the pirate complied, if only because his crew were looking at each other in confusion. The child's hands clenched by his sides, waiting for the perfect opportunity to make his move.

"Hmmm. Piraticis procidunt. What does that mean, lad?"

"Fall down, pirate!" suddenly there was a movement from Sparrow Boy, a quick kick to Barbosa's shin whilst his hands fell to the floor and he was on his feet, running to the nearest exit he could find. Jack sprang into action as pirates began to flood, their incompetence evident whilst they tried to grip hold of the slippery child and found him vanishing through their arms.

The captain grabbed his son when he rolled against the shelf, a result of the misjudged leap between two raised platforms and a treacherously deep ravine. Sparrow Boy was quick to fight off the unknown assailant although he soon stilled, his eyes wide when he caught the bearded face of his father, his voice squeaky when he choked out, "Jack?!"

"What's up, lad?" his smile was warm as he pulled the child behind the shelf and darted off with him, the pistol in his hand trigger happy and his words soft when he spoke, "We've got to seriously think about our escape plans, lad. This is starting to become rather tedious."

"Weirdly enough, I agree with you. Let's just plan my next couple of kidnappings, shall we?" they both huffed out laughter as they continued hurtling down the hallway, the shouts of Sparrow Boy's captives right behind them, the cut on the child's leg throbbing whilst his breathless pants sounded louder than anything else. By the time they had finally breached the surface and felt the cold sea air whipping their cheeks, Elizabeth had been about ready to sail away.

Jack threw his son on the boat before the child could protest, and found his own way up using a discarded bit of rope that he had flung over the side. He knew that would have come in handy at some point. They don't just call people crazy without having a reason, though. The anchor was pulled before the pirates even got out and they were off on their merry way, the book under Sparrow Boy's cloak where he had stolen it back from Barbosa, who had dropped it on his unfortunate descent to the ground. As the others boarded their own boat and began to chase them, Jack found himself back at the steering wheel with a smug smile on his face.

"Open the sails!"

"On it!" the boy climbed the mast rather like a monkey would a tree, his hands quick to find the sail ropes and open them, swinging down until he landed beside his father and grinned widely at him. "You came back." His voice was quiet, and his father's hand fell to his head in a sign of comfort.

"Couldn't leave you there," he said simply as one hand kept the boat steady, "Not with Barbosa."

Two arms looped around him without speaking, a face nuzzled deeply into his side whilst their boat charged through the pea green water, "You came back for me."

"Of course I did. You're my boy."

A soft smile, "I'm a Sparrow."

"That's right, Jakey."

The child flicked his eyes up quickly to his father when he heard the name. For a moment, Jack thought he may have rebuked him, may have told him that his name wasn't Jacob and he was to call him that accursed name Sparrow Boy. But then he smiled softly, and gave him a quick nod.

"I like that name."


	35. Sleep with the Stars

"Jakey, would you do us a favour?"

"Depends on what it is."

"Blow the candle out and let us get some sleep?"

Sparrow Boy sighed as he closed his book up, the small makeshift bed he sat on creaking under the weight of his actions. It had been two days since he escaped Barbosa and they had only just shaken the crew that chased after them; left them stranded after an unfortunate hit on an unseen reef, which just made the child smile as he recalled it. Thank God for small mercies.

But that hadn't meant that his father was prepared to go back to his room. So that was why Sparrow Boy had constructed two beds for them on the deck, intent on not leaving his father behind should they find themselves in the middle of an attack, determined to make sure that they were together should the worst happen. He had been alone enough for the time being.

With a quick blow, the flickering candle beside him was extinguished and they turned their gaze to the stars above, twinkling down at them as Jack's fingers gently squeezed his son's hand. Sparrow Boy smiled but didn't look at him, since the silence was more peaceful than any he had been in.

Of course, Jack had a history of destroying silence, "When this's all blown over, lad, what d'you plan to do next?" the question threw his son off guard and, for a moment, he was met with no reply. When he finally did reply, his voice was laced by uncertainty.

"I don't know. The village is gone. Nothing's left. The Blacksmith…" he closed his eyes, refusing to allow the tears to form, "He's dead, so there's nothing for me to go home to."

Jack wanted there to be a magical solution. He wanted there to be a village that would take his son, a place that would be perfect for him and let him forget the madness of their adventure, but there was no such land. The only place he could imagine was far off, and they would never take young Sparrow Boy when they knew who his father was.

"Jake," he propped himself up one elbow and waited for the boy to react, since he was unused to hearing an actual name call after him, "There's not much I would ask for out of this life – knowing my luck, I'd get something stupid thrown to me instead, which was actually how I met Will – but, aside from that, I wouldn't really ask for anything. It's bloody stupid to."

The boy nodded calmly as his father spoke, not quite understanding the reason for his father's rambling. It wasn't unlike Jack to go into such soliloquys but, when they happened, Sparrow Boy had to be careful to pick out the important parts and disregard everything else.

"I've never wanted much. Well, I've wanted a lot of treasure. The Pearl was good, too. But now I've realised that I want something else, something that I think only comes around once in a lifetime."

The child cocked his head to one side, "A great sword?"

He was rewarded by a soft nudge from his father before he dropped down, his bed creaking underneath him as he tried to sort his thoughts out. The sort of request he was going to come out with wasn't exactly normal, granted he didn't really associate with 'normality' or its followers.

"I don't particularly want you to leave, Jake."

"I wasn't planning to."

"I meant after this is over, after Barbosa's given up," he looked back up, swinging his legs so his feet rested on the floor and he could see the faint silhouette of his son, that perfect depiction of himself like an angelic little beacon, "After we've found Elizabeth and Will a new place to settle down at. I don't want it to be…well, goodbye for us."

Sparrow Boy didn't quite understand, "You wanted to leave me behind at Port Royal." His reminder forced Jack to remember that time, when he had deeply hurt his little boy in the path to save him.

"Maybe, but that was for your own protection."

"But I found out."

"Well, you're a Sparrow."

"And you're an idiot."

"Watch your mouth, boy."

"Don't call me boy, Captain."

A flicker of a smile fell to Jack's bearded face as he lightly patted his boy's shoulder, relishing in the fact he didn't flinch away. Their relationship was well on the way to mending, which was strange when they thought about it. Nine years of anguish for Sparrow Boy, nine years of obliviousness for Jack – it was one of those things that they couldn't quite put behind them but, at the same time, wouldn't let it hinder them in the future.

"I want you to stay on the Pearl," the words came out almost independently of Jack and were such a rush, Sparrow Boy had to try and focus on one word at a time.

"You want me to stay on the Black Pearl?" he reiterated, the confused glittering in his eyes, "Isn't that more dangerous than travelling with you?"

"That would be travelling with me."

"Oh," the realisation suddenly fell to his eyes and his smile broadened, "OH. Oh, I understand now! You want me to stay with you!" there was nod of confirmation from his father before he continued, that same smile on his face as he graciously accepted, "Wow! I'm…I'm going to be on the Black Pearl!"

"As First Mate," Jack seemed to like the excited squeal from his son, something that he hadn't heard before and didn't expect to hear from someone so collected. He was sure Gibbs wouldn't mind being bumped down a position…

"Wait," suddenly the brown eyes met his, and all hints of boyish pleasure vanishing as he fixed him with a steady gaze, "Does that mean I'll have to listen to you? Because I'm not doing that." Jack managed to huff out a laugh at that, though he wished that the child didn't actually mean his words. He would always be an independent little pirate, no matter what he did.

A few minutes passed, and Jack was certain that his son had fallen asleep. So when the child finally flopped down on him, startling the life out of his bones and pressing his face deeply down in his chest, he was quite surprised.

"Can't sleep?" he asked, but the response wasn't what he was expecting. Sparrow Boy looked up at his father with those big brown eyes, identical to his, familiar to the reflection he saw in the water every day, and heard his little voice talking.

"I love you, Dad."


	36. Returning to the Island

There was a silence as Sparrow Boy looked down at the boat's hull, shattered by the massive rock that stuck out so sorely from the beach's shore. He looked first at the rock and then his father, only to turn his back and give Elizabeth his sheepish smile.

"I swear to God, this wasn't me. The rock sprang out at us."

"Hmm," her face was light as she gave him that half-smile, something that was rare but showed her genuine affection for the boy, right before she turned to Will and told him to fetch her things. It would do no good for them to stay on a sinking ship where they would get wet, especially since some of the dresses she had bought were outrageously expensive. Thank Jack and his bad treasure-hiding skills.

"This won't be fixed until tomorrow," Jack observed as he laid his hand on his son's shoulder, more a comforting gesture than anything else with his other hand on his hip, "Remind me to teach you how to steer properly, Jake."

The child shrugged, "That's okay, I told them it was you." He was met with a slightly humorous glance from his father that soon fell apart, looking over the forest they found themselves in.

"Seem familiar to you?"

"Hm?" he looked up and noticed it immediately; the golden shore, the hefty forest to the right of them, the palm leaves that hung so low that they were practically parasols from the sun; it was the first place they had found themselves marooned together, ironically running from Barbosa and his league of unremarkable crewmates.

There was a mutual remembrance of their first night there. The haughtiness of Sparrow Boy's attitude, the rudeness he had shown his father and his father's attempts at calming him, all of which were met by either a cruel snap or something that Jack didn't want to repeat. It seemed only fitting that they found themselves on that isle again, that time as family rather than strangers.

"It's lovely here," Elizabeth remarked, "Very quiet. Peaceful. If only Will could walk on land – I think we would have rather enjoyed dancing here." A glance was shared between her and Jack as though there were some memories to her words, granted Sparrow Boy was too focused on the scene in front of him. It was truly a beautiful place.

When the young three year old had returned, they set off for a brisk pace towards the old campsite. It was strange that Sparrow Boy felt like they were being watched; he pressed closely to his father's side as they walked, the book clasped tightly in his hands whilst they wandered through the familiar tracks.

"What's wrong?" Jack asked but didn't expect a reply, so he wasn't disappointed when he didn't get one. The boy simply squeezed his hand in response and kept his eyes fixed on the pair in front of them.

When they reached the campsite, there was a gasp. Elizabeth moved backwards in her attractively cut trousers, gripping her son closely to her as she stared at the carnage that was all around her, shouting at the top of her voice, "Jack!" it was a matter of moments before the pirate was beside her, not without his own boy pressed tightly to his legs and a hand placed on his back, pushing him into them further like it would protect him.

The campsite in front of them was destroyed. The old fireplace had been scattered into a cryptic message and the shawl – the same shawl that Sparrow Boy had slept under all those days ago – was torn to shreds, as though some sort of huge cat had gone to town on it. Jack wanted to look away. The sight terrified him.

"Jake, stay here," he instructed as he pried the boy off of him, handing the equally terrified Will to him like it would make him seem braver. When Elizabeth had turned her back, he kissed the child's cheek lightly before whispering, "You see anything suspicious, you run. Don't even look back at us. We'll be fine. Just keep yourself and Will safe, savvy?" he received a little nod in reply and watched as Sparrow Boy stepped back, but he knew that he wouldn't run off without warning.

Elizabeth and he scanned the scene thoroughly, though for what reason they didn't know. The children hung back long enough to draw their own conclusions; some vicious predator had come across the site and caught a whiff of their scent, then proceeded to destroy the place until it deemed they weren't there. It wasn't until Sparrow Boy felt a warm breath ghost his cheek that he turned round, and found himself suddenly staring into the yellow eyes of a ragged old woman.

And she just stood there, staring at them. She made no attempts to move. She made no attempt to cry out to them, to tell them they were about to be hurt. All she did was gaze at the two little boys in front of her, curiousness in her eyes as Sparrow Boy pressed Will's head into his shoulder.

"Who are you?" he whispered so as not to alert his father, "Why are you staring at us?"

She said nothing again, only smiled to show her sharpened teeth and point to the book underneath his free arm. It all suddenly fell into place. Everything made sense. That book – that strange, granite-made book – was hers, and she was the strange witch woman that Sparrow Boy had wondered about. The sharpened teeth only made her more terrifying as the boy stepped back, his arms still locked over the young three year old.

"You can have it back. It's useless anyway."

"Not useless," he flinched when he heard her grunting, like some primal beast waiting for a thick slab of meat to come her way, "Not useless. Magic. Boy took. You took magic book." It was then that the child in his hands was ripped away from him and he felt a rough hand cover his mouth, the scream supressed but echoed by Elizabeth behind him. It was only Jack that kept his cool.

"'Ello there lads," he greeted cheerfully to the tribesmen around them, with the bones sticking out of their faces and the war paint over them. "Suppose you think that it's time we return your campsite? This wasn't our doing, I can assure you."

There was a humoured grunt in between the men as everyone was thrust down to their knees, where Sparrow Boy decided it would be a good time to turn to his father and say, "You know, this kind of thing has happened a lot since I met you. Are you sure it's not just you?" Jack wanted to smile at him but he kept his gaze rigid, determined to be the responsible one in that haze of confusion.

And the book started vibrating under Sparrow Boy's arms.


	37. Trapped

The tribesmen were pulling Sparrow Boy along by the shoulder, a blindfold round his eyes as he was led through a confusing trail of rocky terrain, broken landscape and half-finished bridges, all of which rattled under his feet whilst he could hear the people behind him. He took to singing a merry tune so that he wouldn't feel so scared, though that was hard to do with a bony finger poking his side.

"Not to be rude but whoever's doing that, can you stop?" he asked grumpily before his feet were lifted from the ground, two strong hands placing him on a cold seat as he heard Jack yelping. The book was torn out from under his arm whilst his hands were tied down on something that felt peculiarly like bone, granted he couldn't see for the blindfold.

Cackles sounded around him when his father muttered, "Lovely; smells like roast beef. Get your feet ready, Jakey. I think we'll be running very soon." There was silence in response but he knew the boy heard, judging by the way he shuffled his feet and huffed out quietly.

"Book, book," they heard a rough grunt above them that obviously came from one of the tribesmen, big brutes that they were, "Boy took book. Eat first?" Sparrow Boy could only laugh as he imagined their callous hands preparing him. It would be easy to slip through, though it would take far more time to free his friends and help them escape via the forest.

Jack's fist clenched when he heard the words, "The book was left unsupervised. Only right that someone took care of it, isn't it?" he was replied by a horrifying noise that echoed through the clearing around them, which itself was stocked with strange bone-like tools and a collection of the previous tourists they had entertained.

Sparrow Boy was quick to jump on it, "There's something that people get for that – new remedies, you know? You can get rid of that really bad stomach ache if you just rub tea leaves on your chest."

"Book. Book help ill. Book lost. You took book. Found again." The old woman was saying as she took her seat, which was just a few inches away from the little thief. Or, at least, what she assumed was a little thief. He didn't have the look about him, what with his smiling features and the softness of his eyes, all of which had been quickly covered up so that she didn't feel any sympathy for them. She wasn't a cruel women – she had birthed children before, though many of them didn't survive. It was just her duty to protect those she loved.

And Sparrow Boy was intent not to make her any angrier, "You've got the book now; you can let us go and nothing else will happen. It'll be like we never existed. Though, judging by the look of that campsite, I'm guessing you people aren't exactly forgiving?" he didn't mean for the words to come out as sarcastically as they did, granted he wasn't particularly bothered that they were sharp. He just wanted to be out of the restraints again. It was his right after all, that he should be able to wander through the forest without anything on his wrists.

"Hush Jake," Jack mentioned quietly, "We're guests in their world. You don't say a word and let your old dad handle this. It'll be better."

"No offence Jack, but I've seen your track record."

"And this is when I magically erase everything I've done wrong in the past," Sparrow Boy could almost hear the grin that stretched on his father's face. In that instant he wanted to see him, wanted him to be reassured in the fact that they were going to make it out like they had done so many times before, though he could do nothing of the sort. The blindfold was too tight around his face.

The tribesmen weren't cannibals. They had grown out of the barbaric rituals that befell their ancestors, each one more gruesome than the last until they had come to eating their own young. That was the last straw for their respectable organisation. Now, they simply liked to skewer people before they threw them off the cliff, perhaps with anchors tied to them so that they would sink in the rocks below. It was far more civil than what they would normally do.

"Dad," Jack was unused to hearing such words but he answered, waiting for his boy to continue, "I can…I felt the trail go off in a different direction. We're in a clearing. I feel like there's some forest around us."

"What're you talking about, lad?"

"I'm saying, there are tonnes of ways we can escape. We could rip these ties off right now and run into the forest. We could throw something at them from the dust under our feet. Miss Turner can throw her necklace at them." He had heard it clattering against her throat when they were walking, ever vigilant child he was. The frozen wind began to pick up overhead and whistled through the treetops, alerting him to the fact that a storm was on its way and they would have to be quick, or else he would find no comfort in the arms of his father.

Jack was impressed, "You're certain that's all around us?"

"My feet used to be the only way I could see. I'd trust them with my life."

"You were blind?"

"In a sense," he lowered his voice more when he heard suspicious grunts, "My eyes weren't always the best things in the world. My feet are ten times more reliable sometimes. They're better at doing it."

Without a word, Jack seemed to kick out his own feet in reply. He was trying to get a feel of the ground below him but, because he was so uncertain on them, he wasn't as good as Sparrow Boy claimed to be. The boy let a giggle slip.

"Just let your dear old son take care of this, yeah?"


	38. Blood Book

There was a coldness against Sparrow Boy's cheek as they soaked it, with 'they' being some unknown tribesman and 'coldness' more like a frozen prong of Hell. He kicked out in an attempt to free himself but as quickly as he did so, someone pinned it back to the bony seat under him, hot breath across his bare face.

"Get off!" the blindfold was ripped from his eyes to reveal sharpened teeth and flashed gums, none of which he flinched away from but felt a very deep sense of foreboding in his stomach, "Dad!"

Jack had been dragged to the other end of the clearing by that time. His chair was propped up against the largest tree Sparrow Boy had ever seen, equipped with festering critters that threatened to encase themselves in the pirate's hair, earwigs writhing down his uncovered shoulders as some old man ran off with his coat, that smile on his face like a contorted, coiled copper wire.

"Don't worry lad." He said simply before resting his head back, saving his frowns and curses at the feel of bugs, "We're alright here. Why don't you just help these lovely folks?" his words were laced by obvious sarcasm that made Elizabeth's mouth flicker, whether out of annoyance or humour was a different question entirely.

"Let them go!"

"Boy release book. You read. What read?" the grunts were primitive, so the boy had to strain his ears to understand. Their hand gestures helped occasionally, but only occasionally. He was going on pretty much instinct alone.

"Il mondo freddo sussurrare e portare il demone - nel mio tempo, io verrò per te."

The group of tribesmen gasped around him before scattering to the fire pit, quite a deal larger than the old one at the campsite. They seemed to be prepping it for some sort of ritual but, with the way his friends and father were still clothed and had no apples in their mouths, Sparrow Boy assumed it wouldn't be cannibalism. He had been wrong before though.

"Bad! Bad book! Demon!" the witch woman lumbered around as her men went wildly on their way, "Release demon! Release him!"

The child pulled his head back so he could stare into her yellow eyes, which seemed to sear horribly through him and make him want to hide under the trees again, or in his father's arms that were so unceremoniously tied down.

"What do you mean? Dad, what're they saying?!" their chants were unfamiliar to Jack but he tried to reassure his son, granted it would be easier without the blindfold on his eyes, "Dad!"

"Relax, Jakey. There won't be any reason to fret," he calmed to the best of his abilities, "We'll be right as rain." The rain was heavy on the air as he spoke, just as a hint to say that there would be a storm upon them, a large thing that would rattle the ground and shake the lemurs from their sleep.

"A storm!" he whispered whilst the woman put the book on the ground, covered in something that looked suspiciously like blood, "There's a storm coming!"

"And I'm here. You don't have to worry about it, Jake. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

The conviction of his voice made Sparrow Boy relax. He heard that sureness that he had lived without, that wonderful adult authority that had been absent from his life and he secretly craved throughout it.

There was a silence as a smile flickered to his face, "Okay. I trust you."

The witch woman suddenly pressed a bloodied hand on Sparrow Boy's cold cheek. He gasped as it soaked his cream coloured skin, forced the air out of his lungs and made him want to freeze, as if he were stuck in an iceberg drifting through the ocean.

"What're you doing?! Get off me!"

"Demon find you! Demon looks for blood!"

Jack wanted to jump forward. His hands struggled against the wires and cut through his wrists, like he wanted to become a strange assortment of little pieces rather than one whole man. He wouldn't listen to what they were doing to his son. He would break free if he had to, if he had to save his little boy from the clutches of that strange tribe. The strangled cries from Sparrow Boy became more and more as he forced himself away from the hands, each thrust met with another cold touch to his cheek.

"Dad!"

That was enough. Jack suddenly found the strength he needed to snap the vine-like restraints, freeing himself in that split second that he bolted forward and smashed some of the tribesmen away, the blindfold coming off when he realised that it was still on him. Elizabeth and Will were his second concern; his first thoughts were for his little boy, who was red all over with strange handprints scoring his face.

"Get away from him!" he leapt forward and sent the woman careering to the ground, where she gasped on impact. It was sandy underneath them. On a quick glance, Jack saw that there was indeed a forest that surrounded the little clearing, and the fire pit in the middle had jagged edges that sliced through the skin of his cheek. He had barely noticed, he was so concentrated on Sparrow Boy.

His hands fumbled with the restraints on his boy's wrists, "These are a bit tighter than I'm used to."

There was a smile on the child's face as he thought of a comeback, granted it wasn't decent to utter in people's company. As soon as his hands were free and his feet were planted firmly on the ground, there were two arms around Jack's neck.

"I love you."

Two arms around Sparrow Boy, "I love you too. Now let's get everyone out of here."

They turned, instantly sprinting towards their friends who were still stuck in their restraints, still waiting to be let free and abandon the clearing they sat in. Their work was swift. Their hands were swifter. Smiles littered their faces as the quarter moved towards the opening, the tribesmen groaning since they had fallen on their own spears, before Sparrow Boy turned round and saw the book on the floor. It was so close…

Another hand on his, "Leave it. We've done enough here." He looked into those identical brown eyes, so sure in themselves.

"Okay," he whispered, "Okay, Dad."


	39. Dodging the Sparrow

Dodge knew what he was doing. He knew that Sparrow Boy trusted him, and he would use that to his advantage. He didn't care that he used to spend lazy days on the beach with him or the fact that they were the best of friends; Barbosa wanted him dead, mortally wounded at the very least. This was his life now.

Things had been tough after the village was destroyed. Dodge went back for his friend but found the prison empty. He went back to his mother, where she had died, but the kitchen was picked clean of all valuables. That included her body. It sickened him to think she could be roasting on the fire outside, where some of the lingering pirates were enjoying a merry jig and the surviving kegs of ale.

It was Sparrow Boy's fault. It was his fault that Barbosa felt the need to raid them, since it was him they were after. Jack was a good pirate – he would have worked his way from the captain's grasp if he needed to, but he didn't. Dodge's mother was dead because of someone he once loved. Sparrow Boy had to pay for what he'd done. He just had to bleed for the blood his mother poured.

The fantasies were a lot more violent then he cared to admit. There were dreams that the child would be impaled on the same sword of the Blacksmith's, or perhaps a sword that he had crafted himself. He wanted to string him up by his neck and watch as he hung over the mast. He wanted to set him on fire and dip him in the water, only to do it again and again until he collapsed from the pain. All of those things ticked in Hank's brain as he collected the unclean sheets from Barbosa's room, ready to start another day as a proud helping hand, as a practical centrepiece to the future of the crew.

And his thoughts wandered again whilst he went about his duties, to what he used to do with Sparrow Boy when they were but young children. There was a single memory playing in his brain – one chilly morning in November…

The child had come to them after another one of his mother's drunken rages. Hank set him up with a warm bed in his room and kept him safe from the screams of his parent, shushing him whilst his own mother went about her soothing balms and tried to make her quiet, tried to silence her abusive lies. Sparrow Boy's perfect brown eyes looked up at him and in their five years together, Hank had never seen someone so hurt.

But that melted when he remembered how all the local girls had found Sparrow Boy cute. He would be forced to listen as they fawned over him, their words and thoughts on his absent father and their concerns on how they could make him feel important, when it seemed so obvious that he was wounded beyond repair. They would sit in the tavern in their whitest dresses, waiting for him to turn up and deliver some new silvers or just enjoy himself to the sound of Windesa's music.

Their girlish screams of joy when he looked at them _sickened _Dodge. It was ridiculous. Just because of those deep brown eyes and the chaos in them, people thought that Sparrow Boy was in a bad place. He wasn't. He had the Blacksmith, the person that would praise him and keep him on the straight and narrow, whilst all Hank had was a mother who couldn't provide for him. At least Sparrow Boy's mother worked. At least Sparrow Boy had known who is father was, rather than being forced to ponder on the millions of people that it could be, disregarding only women.

And the way they used to speak about him! The way they were so gentle about him no matter what he did, though it was a different matter entirely for Hank. They judged him because he had to steal to make sure there was food on the table, yet there was none of that with his friend.

"Oh, poor Sparrow Boy! He's got another cut on his forehead!"

"Oh, poor Sparrow Boy! He's staring at the sea again!"

"Oh, poor Sparrow Boy! His father's not here!"

So the mantra went on and on until Dodge had contemplated killing him, just so he would be free of the girl's inane prattling. Whenever he walked down the street beside his friend he saw sympathy, but only for him. Only ever for the boy who wouldn't talk about what was hurting him. He never asked for help, and so he never received it. Hank would be damned if that same fate befell him.

"Jake," the child looked up from the rock in his hands, the only thing he had found that could possibly help them fix the hull, "That's not going to work. You best just let Elizabeth and I handle this. Why don't you go and play with Will?"

But Sparrow Boy couldn't stop thinking about Dodge. He had been such a close friend when they were children, it was strange that he should so easily deviate to the other side. Perhaps it was his doing? Perhaps, if they had only been closer…

The cold remembrance of their friendship lingered. He thought about the ways they had been there for each other and, in turn, the ways he had failed him. He recalled the ways he had been locked up for his thievery. He recalled the times he had been trying to find his own path and somehow, through no fault of their own, it would mash right beside Sparrow Boy's, usually when it involved a girl that the child had no interest in.

But that didn't answer his question. What had happened to the innocence that was Dodge? What happened to his boyish good nature? What happened to their friendship?

Sparrow Boy knew he could never trust him again.


	40. Sailing

By the time they had fixed the ship, Sparrow Boy knew that the tribe had given up. Their grunts weren't heard in the forests that surrounded them and their cries didn't ring through the beach, which was probably a good thing. Jack wasn't prepared to go running for his life.

"Jakey," he pulled his son close to him when they finally boarded the ship, a little while after Elizabeth had vanished to pack away her things and William had disappeared to make himself comfortable. It was a soft hug, one of the kinds that Sparrow Boy had fantasised receiving from his mother, and he nuzzled his face deeply into his father's shoulder.

"What were they talking about? The demon, I mean," he asked after a few moments of blissful silence, "They said it was coming. They said it was looking for…blood." The memory of the crimson liquid dripping down his cheek caused shivers up his spine, so intense that he couldn't remember anything except the burning yellow eyes glaring into his, the foul stench of her breath as it fogged his tanned face.

"I've no idea, but it doesn't matter. What matters now is that you're safe. You're safe, and everything else will fall into place," as he spoke he looped his arm around the boy, picking him up like he were a rag doll and placing him firmly on his hip. Sparrow Boy was slightly smaller for his age perhaps – a side effect of poor diet and his struggles with the anvil – but it was obviously a skirmish for his father to hold him so tightly, a skirmish that he was proud to undertake.

"Put me down!" the boy giggled despite himself, "Put me down or you'll hurt yourself!" he was met by a barrage of tickling fingers to his side, forcing him to bury his head in his father's shoulder and try not to wriggle as he laughed. He had seen many parents do the same thing for their children; it seemed strange that he was enjoying the same treatment, perhaps a little belated in the grand schemes of thing but, at the same time, well earned.

By the time he had finally released his boy, he noticed a scarlet flush on his cheeks. He wondered how it would look when he grew his own beard, when he braided it and tried to keep his look similar to his father. The thought made a smile flicker to his face.

Sparrow Boy narrowed his eyes playfully before he ran to the steering wheel, "Can I take over? I've always wanted to drive one of these; properly, I mean."

"After last time? It only took one jerk to make us crash into the beach," Jack mentioned quietly as he walked behind him, his hands on his hips whilst his eyes stayed fixated on the boy, "I don't quite fancy getting off the boat again, Jake. Best let your old dad take care of that and you just watch the master."

"There's a master on board?!" his wide smile was impish, strange – it was one of those grins that Jack had heard about from the mouths of pirates, when their children were still young and they were able to enjoy the characteristics of youth. The sarcasm was so alike to Jack's that he just felt his own smile stretching, because it was nice to see someone with his personality without having gone through prison first.

A few hours passed as they sailed on the water. Sparrow Boy watched the island behind them get smaller and smaller, becoming little more than a grey dot on the horizon as they were gently cradled through the ocean, their path unimportant and their companions underneath them. All that mattered was that Sparrow Boy and Jack were together; father and son on the same boat, ready to take on the world with each other by their sides.

"Jake," he turned when his father called him, eyes glinting in the waning light, "Where should we be sailing? It's your choice." The weight of responsibility was heavy on the boy's shoulders when he turned, and saw the horizon before him like an unexplored canvas. That was his dream. It was his dream to be riding the unbridled ocean waves, wishing for the future to be filled with treasure and bountiful whores. Well, perhaps not whores…

"Where's that old First Mate you talked about? Gibbs?"

"He sailed far off – England, if I'm remembering right."

"Then we go to England. We go to England and we start building your crew up!" another smile flickered on his face, gentle and untainted, perfect without adultery, "We pick up the Black Pearl and we start our lives as pirates!"

There was a bursting bloom of pride in Jack's chest as he looked at his son. That was the Sparrow way – the idea that anything could be fixed, that there was always time to right the wrongs and change what the future had in store for them. There would always be time. There would be time when they were together, perfection in perfection, excellence just waiting to be released.

"Jakey, you know, I don't think I could've asked for a better son." The words slipped out almost independently of his mouth, like he couldn't imagine why he was saying them but still believing every word that burst forth. Sparrow Boy turned with those tears in his eyes, threatening to spill forth as though the words actually meant something to him, actually made him feel better about the empty shell of a life he led.

"You don't mean that."

"Of course I do. Who wants some kid who sits over old textbooks and learns to be a scholar? I'd much rather have my street-wise Jake Sparrow than a snobby book smart Theodore Rustbelt. You're my son Jake, and you're a great one at that."

Another smile flickered on the boy's face, replacing the tears that almost threatened to break free, "I love you too, Dad."


	41. Achilles' Heel

Sparrow Boy sat at the edge of the ship as he normally did, watching as the sunlight waned overhead and reflecting over his day. There was much he could have done to better it – he could have noticed that there was a crab in the fish they had caught and, by default, managed to avoid the incident in which it ended up in Jack's beard. He could have stopped the sail from momentarily catching fire after a particularly nasty trip with a lit match, though that was more Elizabeth's fault than anything else. And he could have seen how the horizon seemed to become alive with ships as he turned his head, his eyes on his father as he steered leisurely at the helm.

"Looks like we've got some company," Jack muttered quietly to himself, so as not to alert his treasured son and cause him undue worry. Those times had all but passed for Sparrow Boy; what he needed was a firm hand, someone who cared about him and shared his values, whilst also being the role model that he so desperately craved in life.

Silence passed between them. The child smiled tiredly at his father, the ocean gently cradling him to almost sleep on his feet, the waves so softly lapping against the boat that he thought it was like a puppy to its master, the ebbing gentleness of it all like music to his ears. With weary eyes he placed his head on his little hand, closing them to his father's delight.

"Don't worry about this Jakey," he quietly whispered before pulling at the wheel, which made the ship turn the other direction so they avoided the armada in front of them, "I'll sort it out. Have a nice sleep, lad."

They turned to a smaller pit stop that sat adjacent to them, a place that Elizabeth had spotted some time beforehand but Jack had thought too risky to dock. With the smoke rising from columned chimney pots and the shadowed people on the pier, arms heavy with what seemed like cannonballs, the pirate had tried to keep their sons far away from that business. But, needs must.

"What's going on?" the fair lady returned after putting her own child to bed, noticing immediately that little Sparrow Boy had fallen asleep at the banister before she walked to Jack. Her eyes were questioning; they always were when the captain was concerned, but she rarely ever said anything. He just knew.

"Armada," he grunted, tilting his nose up to the left side of them whilst the boat carried on course, "Thought it best not to risk anything. Don't want to wake the boys up now, do we?" his smile was warm when he glanced at his son, the snores softer than a mouse's footsteps over the mantelpiece, sweeter than an iced bun baked freshly in the oven. Speaking of which, he had to make sure Sparrow Boy didn't have any allergies…

"That's quite safe for you, Jack. What's the emblem?" she took the telescope before he could protest. What she saw wasn't pretty.

A few years before, she had come into contact with a nasty pirate by the name of Achilles, his sword curved at the tip and his hat pinned with several teeth of his enemies, each one falling to the might of his thunderous roars and cold stare. The black coal eyes pierced her memory when she thought about how he had pointed at her, claimed her for his own before vanishing off into the distance, a cackle emanating from the vast ocean he left behind. She shuddered to think about it. Jack noticed that, and he was worried when asking what she had gone through with said pirate.

"Achilles," she whispered softly, "He's vicious, Jack. He'll kill Sparrow Boy and Will while we watch. He'll make…he'll make necklaces out of their teeth and nails. He'll torture them right in front of us – that's what he does. He's a cruel, evil man." Her gentle hands shook as the boat slowly rocked into the dock, the gentleness of it all like nothing Jack had ever steered before, "They'll kill our boys before they do anything to us."

That was enough to get Jack's attention. With ease he jumped over the raised deck, landing close enough to his son to put his arm around his waist and hoist him to his hip, where Sparrow Boy softly nuzzled into the shoulder with a gentle, loving snore. He mentioned something briefly about silver; what it was Jack didn't know, but it was enough to bring a small smile to his face.

"Get Will. We'll be in this village til they pass, then we'll be on our way. Savvy?"

"Do you really think that's a good idea? I don't-"

"I won't be risking his safety. The best bet is to stay off the water. Come on; I'll meet you down there," they vanished off the plank and left Elizabeth to quickly collect her son, Jack's face stricken with worry as he felt his son nuzzle further to him.

_Look after him, lad. You promised him._

On Achilles' ship stood a man of about forty, his features withered in the crisp sea air and his teeth snapped by the ravages of diet. He watched as the ragged men around him valiantly worked, grunting deeply under their breathes so as not to be detected, focusing on the fact that their lives meant very little if the man pointed his sword at them. His heavy boots tapped against the splintered floorboards as he swung an old gun in his hand – pistol, single barrel, rusted.

His broken grin fell upon every man that worked for him. Indebted men of course, that once had families and lives that stretched far beyond the realms of time, all stolen away by the man they worked under. Each gaze diverted away, both sickened and awed by him, pacing so calmly along the ship he had sailed for years.

"_And by my side you shall stay,"_ he practically giggled to himself, "_Until death comes and takes me away." _The men glanced up at the words, their ears pricked to hear him again.

It was rare that Achilles sung. For the more seasoned of his crew, they knew what it meant. It meant that someone was going to die. It meant that someone had opened something that really shouldn't have been opened, and read that accursed text written in a language many didn't know. It meant that someone somewhere was going to lose something dear to them. It always meant the same things.

He pressed his gun to his forehead, forcing the hat further above his eyes as he giggled through his blackened teeth, "I'm comin' to get ya, laddy."


	42. The Loss

When Jack exploded into the inn's room, he was quick to start preparing himself. Sparrow Boy was placed gingerly on the threadbare bundle of blankets that decorated the dirty floorboards, festering critters brushed aside before his father began collecting anything that could be a weapon. Elizabeth followed him closely behind, though she had spent some of her time trying to assure people they weren't married, simply travelling together.

The boys huddled together in their sleep as their parents went to work. Quick glances were passed but no words, nothing that could rouse their precious jewels and make them understand the situation they were in, the gravity of what they were facing. Jack cocked his pistol before checking his boy, the worry in his face more prominent than anything they had ever seen.

"We'll keep watch out of this," he mused half to himself, pointing towards the dirty window that framed the dock perfectly, "Anything seems suspicious and we'll slip out the back. It's fool-proof." Famous last words.

Elizabeth nodded to him despite her own eyes being directed at the rickety wardrobe, which she soon dismantled to take the splintered wooden boards and attach nails to it. The resulting noise made Sparrow Boy's head rise.

"What's going on?" he mumbled through his haze, the back of his balled fist rubbing his tired eyes, "Dad? What's happening?"

Jack was quick to stroke his boy's dreadlocked hair and gently lay him back on the blankets. He didn't want the child to understand what was going, especially not when he desperately needed some sleep. Sparrow Boy's eyes stayed as focused as they could be.

"It's nothing, lad. Simply stopped to resupply. We'll be moving again in the morning." His voice sounded so sure, so confident that his son couldn't help but trust him, falling back into the deep sleep that he had previously been in and curling up beside Will. A moment was spent to watch as he snaked his arms around the infant, as though he were a protective older brother rather than a forced travelling partner.

There were some roars from outside. The parents both looked up before darting towards the window, very nearly crashing into each other whilst their eyes peered at the boat docking beside theirs. Elizabeth's breathe hitched. Jack wanted to run. The boys twitched in their sleep.

Achilles' boots clicked down his plank.

He was met by a few stares from the men around him, mostly thugs that had washed up in the village after one too many mutinies. Mothers with jobs sat outside their corners, watching intently whilst the archaic pirate tapped the butt of his gun against his nose, his eyes like black coal and his words like ice.

"Who're you?" asked one of the bolder men, squaring up to the pirate as though he didn't fear death, "What's your business here?"

He was met by a chilled laugh, "Me business? Why don't ya tell me? I'm just travellin', taking in the sights, and I come across this here ship; a ship that smells a lot like…blood." With a pointed barrel he gestured to Jack's boat, another hearty laugh when he looked at the confused faces in front of him. Blood? Was he a shark or something? "Any chance yer'll tell me where the shipmates are?"

Jack held his breath, but he didn't know why. Not only had he paid extra to make sure they were silent, he had made certain that those men followed some sort of code. They all had sons of their own. It only took one glance at Sparrow Boy and Will to make sure they were quiet, remembering their own little boys fondly, sleeping at home in the warm crook of their mother's hips.

"Not a clue."

There was a single shot. Sparrow Boy's head snapped out of whatever half dream he was having, his eyes wide as he looked nervously at the people in front of him. Will managed to wriggle out of his grasp without too much of a complaint.

"What was that?!"

Stunned silence emanated from the clearing whilst Jack quickly rushed to the boys, arming them with their own pistol that he had picked up from the boat. Well, he had given two pistols to his own son just in case…just in case something happened to him and Elizabeth and they found themselves alone, needing to defend themselves.

"You told me there wasn't anything wrong," Sparrow Boy pointed out casually as he glanced at the window, his eyes quick to detect the pirate and his ragtag crew. Jack managed a smile.

"When I told you that, there wasn't anything wrong."

He jumped forward when another shot sounded but found his eyes covered by a calloused hand, the same hand that had pulled him to his hip and carried him into that inn. Flurried sounds of movement sounded in the rooms around them, though they paid it no mind as they were pulled from the room. The hall outside was dirty. There was a noticeable rat lying in the corner with several rat babies, each one with wide yellow eyes and looking adorably vulnerable, granted Sparrow Boy wasn't too concerned for that. The speed in which they were walking was already starting to hurt his feet.

"You stay near us," Elizabeth pressed her hands against his cheek when they finally reached the lobby. Faded shades of crimson carpet lay underneath their feet and a plaster-covered front desk remained unattended; it was the same way when Jack had entered but, what with the evil pirates in the clearing, it seemed all the more eerie.

And the boy was his usual self in such situations, "Really? Because I thought I'd just walk out there and say, 'hey, look, we've got a massive target on our backs!' Not what we're going for tonight?"

If people could be too much like their fathers…

"The back entrance's clear. We can make our way out there," Jack said as he came back into the lobby, "We'll have to leave the boat behind. There's another port on the other side of the island – we'll have to make our way there."

Sparrow Boy nodded through the tears in his eyes, frowning at his father in an attempt to stay dignified. The fear was back. The fear and the sense of loss came back with terrifying speed, but it was smaller than it had been before. Jake had Jack. They were the Sparrows, and they were going to get through that mess.

"_And by my side you shall stay, until death comes and takes me away."_


	43. Chaos

They ran from the village. They ran, but they couldn't get away. Achilles followed them with that unearthly ability of his, moving forward through the wreckage of the lives around him and the broken, crying bodies that lay at his feet, snapping underneath the big boots that he was known for.

And he whistled that tune like a merry little jig, because he just loved the smell of fresh blood on the breeze. Tinged with disease and weakness – aye, weakness being the main attraction – it was one of those lovely scents that brought him back to his childhood, many years ago when he had come across a strange book written in a stranger language.

So he walked through the open plains behind his kill. He walked behind them until they reached the next forest, and continued following til they had breached those trees and come to the second port. Blackened teeth dulled the air around him as he watched little Sparrow Boy; bloody, broken little Sparrow Boy, so hardened and yet so damaged, with a hand on his back that belonged to his father whilst they tried to escape the inevitable.

Will was waiting for them at the second port. With haste Jack threw the infant to him and then his son, helping Elizabeth over the plank that barely scrapped the concrete dock before he turned, waving them away. There was a furious glint in his eye. He would protect Sparrow Boy until he hadn't the muscle to move.

"Dad!" screamed the child as Will pulled him back, his own face wild with confusion as he watched his father walk back onto the dock. He was scared – he was terrified that Jack was doing what he thought he was doing, which was just as insane as cooking lobster with a matchstick.

"Keep my boy safe!" he snarled to his friends without turning round, willing all the fear out of his voice so he had the confidence of his son, his hand unsheathing the sword he kept in his belt, "Keep him close! Get as far out to sea as you can; keep going East, and keep him safe!" the nod from Will confirmed his understanding before the captain was gone, his men like festering cockle shells and crusted barnacles as they went about their work. Elizabeth screamed at Jack that he was a fool. Infant Will clung to his mother with that desperate squeal on his voice.

Sparrow Boy looked down at his father. He had those hurt eyes as the fair woman held him back by his clothes, begging him silently to turn around and look at him. The fire around them was already out of control; the whole world had gone to Hell in the space of ten minutes, but he didn't care. He wanted Jack to go with them. He wanted his father to be there like he had promised.

"Dad," he whispered, which caused the man to twitch, "Don't be an idiot. Get on the ship. We've got to go!"

But he wasn't surprised when he saw a shake of the head and his father walked forward, sword drawn and his voice steady when he replied.

"You stick to the Code, savvy?"

"Open the sails!" Will's voice was a numb drone to Sparrow Boy as the ship became an ecstasy of work, "At the wheel! Cannons prepared! We make for East!" the child could feel the ship moving, but he wasn't part of it. He watched as the only parent he had ever known vanished into the craziness of battle, the fire like sharp tongues of Hell that he longed to be in if it meant being with Jack.

So he fell to his knees, head-height with Will with tears in his eyes as he passed him a pistol, "You've got to keep your mum safe for me, Will. Jack'd never forgive us if we didn't keep her safe."

"Sparrow Boy?" the infant asked with a certain tremble in his voice, his soft hands clasped over the weapon, "Where you going?"

But his part-time brother simply shook his head and placed a hand on his shoulder, "Not Sparrow Boy, Will. Call me Jake. Remember me as Jake. If I don't see you again…well, I love you, kiddo." And with that he jumped from the ship, grabbing the overhanging ropes that span on a pivot to bring him back to the dock.

Elizabeth only noticed that Sparrow Boy was gone when she saw him vanishing into the writhing crowds. She screamed after him but her son stopped her from doing anything stupid, with his little weapon clasped so tightly in his hands that he thought it was cutting into him.

"Jake has to go!" he insisted in that little voice, "Jake has to go! Let him go!" she saw the determination in his eyes that made her recoil back, as though in that instant her little boy became a man just like his father.

Sparrow Boy ran through the screaming people. He pushed each squealing woman away from him and the half-dead men, watching as blood seeped through his fingers but pursuing onwards, because he belonged with his father. Jack was charging over the raised stage where the mayor once held his political addresses; it took one moment for Sparrow Boy to see him, granted it took him longer to chase him through the forest.

Jack wanted to kill Achilles for making him separate from Sparrow Boy, if only to protect his son from the fate that was approaching. He didn't care if he died on the edge of the man's blade – he would protect his son with the last of his breath, even when that little boy wasn't with him.

"Ah," he froze at the edge of a ravine. The voice drifted in like the Northern breezes, chilling him to the core whilst he slowly turned on his heels, coming face to face with the man he had seen only moments before.

His withered, forty year old features creased in a wicked grin, his cackle like nothing Jack had ever heard. The blackened outfit he wore was like a play on Barbosa's whilst the hat on his head was like Sparrow Boy's, granted it jangled with yellowed teeth and a few twig like bones, prizes from each of his conquests.

"Bit of bad luck that I should run into you," the pirate mentioned as he cocked his gun up, beard twitching despite himself, "It's a funny ole world, inn'it?"

"Yer not the one I been smelling," he commented like there was no gun in his face, "The scent's strong on ya. Where be the boy?"

"Gone."

"No…no he's not…" and with that he tilted his nose upwards, sniffing at the debris-filled air around them as the fire raged on. It was becoming hard to think with the smoke that surrounded them but Jack wouldn't give in, not when his little Sparrow Boy sat on the line, not when he had the real chance of fulfilling his oath.

But that was when he heard the cries, "Dad!"


	44. Choice

"Aye, that be the boy," without warning, Sparrow Boy was pulled from his run towards his father by a gloved hand, wrapped around his throat with a grip tight enough to make him choke. He let out a strangled cry as he stared at his father – his lips parted to reveal the tops of his white teeth and his hands clasped around the black glove around his throat.

"Let him go!" Jack screamed whilst pulling his own hands up in surrender, that fear in his eyes so intense that it could have shot a man dead, "Let him go! It's me you're looking for! I've got the blood!"

That earned a laugh from the pirate in front of him. He stepped backwards slightly to watch rocks fall from the ravine, dropping into the raging white waters below them and reuniting with their jagged brothers. It was peaceful in some respects; if he weren't a pillaging captain with a motley crew of indebted men, he could have spent a moment to ponder the beauties of their realm.

But of course, there were far more pressing matters at hand.

"This? This's the gun you gave 'im?" he ripped the pistol from Sparrow Boy's belt, his hand moving to grip his dreadlocked hair and releasing the child's bruised neck, "Wanted him ta die, did ye? Thing couldn't shoot milk." With that he threw it to him, Jack's own nimble hands catching it before it fell on the hard mud below them.

Sparrow Boy struggled valiantly despite himself. It was in his nature to fight back, to protect himself no matter the situation, though he found his eyes connect with Jack again as he battled bravely against the hand. It yanked at him once, and he stilled. His eyes became unreadable. He watched his father intently whilst his hands fell to his sides, like he had lost the will to fight in that short space of time. It was Jack's move.

And Jack knew he was waiting for him, "You let the boy go, and you can have me. I'm the one the tribe put the mark on. I read the book. It's my curse and mine alone." Another laugh, that one harsher than the previous had been as Achilles kicked more rocks into the raging water.

"Yer think ye can pull a fast one on ole Achilles? Been far too long; the boy's been smelling like blood fer days," that was when he crouched suddenly to tear at the child's trouser leg, which came apart easily to reveal his slowly healing knife wound.

Sparrow Boy huffed. He knew that cut would be more trouble than it was worth.

Jack watched helplessly when Achilles thrust his son on his knees, his cry of pain only masked by the sound of his joints crunching in the mud. A yelp echoed around the slowly burning clearing around them as bits of burning ash floated, serene, surreal, chaotic. There was an instinct to protect his son that made Jack bring up the pistol, aimed perfectly for the pirate's head before he squeezed the trigger quickly, hoping to make short work of the man in front of him.

But of course, the shot just rang clear. Time stood still as Achilles swerved from the shrapnel, his back bending in an unearthly fashion so it would pass and hit the tree behind him, Sparrow Boy's eyes twinkling to betray just the slightest inkling of fear. There was something else in there too, something that Jack never thought he would see in the identical brown depths that he had grown accustomed to.

Trust. Forgiveness. Peace. The three emotions that his Sparrow Boy…his Jake had never had were suddenly there, as though they always were. Tears stung the pirate's eyes whilst the gun fell from his hand – it landed on the ground with a thud, but he barely noticed as Achilles cackled and pressed his pistol to the child's temple. Sparrow Boy breathed in a sob. His eyes twinkled with intense fear. The ash around them grew thicker for a split second, a moment frozen in time.

But then Achilles twirled the gun idly in his fingers, "Yer quite the tale yerself, Jackie. Heard things bout ya that don't come about often. I'm just thinking, maybe, with yer skills and my businessman attitude, we might be able ta strike a deal."

"Anything; anything so long as you let my boy go," Jack replied, bending on one knee to collect the pistol back up and grip it in his hands. The waters continued to rage underneath them as Sparrow Boy's toes fell from the slowly crumbling edge, his gasp barely supressed by his gritted teeth.

Achilles let a smile fall to his face. It was rare that he did deals with someone but, when they said that anything was on the menu, he allowed exceptions to be made. It was such a lovely time they lived in; too many people agreed to things they didn't know about, which was perfectly fine to a shrewd businessman like him.

"Well," the gun was pressed tightly to Sparrow Boy's temple, "Ye can have the joy o' knowing yer son remembers ya, this whole little 'adventure' ye both went on, but he'll die."

Jack's hands came out to try and push the idea away, his face contorted in that strange expression to show his displeasure and his knees bent slightly before he brought himself back to standing height, "No!" he hadn't acted so cautious since he bargained for his rum, and even that had been on a lesser scale to the situation he was suddenly thrown in.

"Or," the man pulled his gun away to twirl it back in the air, "I let the boy go. He'll wake up back at that little village o' his, with all his motley friends like nothin' ever happened. He'll remember nothin'. But yerself?" black coal turned to Jack and almost burnt into his soul, "Yer'll remember everything. Yer'll remember him, the adventure; everything. Yer'll be forced ta watch him grow up, ta know he'll never remember ya and will reject ya the minute ye come to him. It'll be hard to handle the pain. But he'll live."

A constriction fell to Jack's chest as he first looked at Achilles, and then his little boy. The gun was pressed to his temple again but his eyes stayed rooted to his father, the fear in them dwindling behind an unreadable emotion, the calculating nature of his personality coming into effect whilst he watched the man's face. But it wasn't just Sparrow Boy kneeling there – it was the Jack's missing piece, his younger identical twin, his perfect creation in a world full of chaos. It was his son. He couldn't imagine a crueller choice and actually cursed God for it, because that was the only thing he could think of to do.

But Achilles was an impatient man, "Tick tock, tick tock, Jackie boy. What's yer choice? If ya don't hurry up, I might make it for ya…"

"Wait!"

Jack took a deep breath as he felt the world melt away. The fire's heat disappeared when he connected eyes with Sparrow Boy, gripping the gun against his hand so tightly that he thought it was part of him, fear sparking through his heart whilst he tried to make sense in his head.

"I…I've made my choice."


	45. Towards the Horizon

Jack stared out over the open water, his hands clasped on the Black Pearl's steering wheel as he kept his eyes trained on a wooden pier some ways in front of them. There were people on that dock – they carried huge crates with them, burdens of the crudest nature that held a certain memory for the pirate, granted it was far off and painful.

And somewhere amongst the clutter was Sparrow Boy. He smiled whilst watching his son work, his arms laden with a box of silver swords and his own smile small on his face, void of all cuts and wounds that they had picked up on their travels. That hurt Jack more than anything. He felt as though it had never really happened despite all they had been through, that it had been some cruel dream and now he was just staring at a boy he didn't know, like he reminded him of a time not so long ago.

Sparrow Boy brushed easily against a woman that Jack hadn't seen before. They smiled at one another and passed a greeting, chatting about something he couldn't hear as the child had a slight note of recognition in his eyes; it was peaceful, joyous, though dampened by that familiar trace of uncertainty. He was unsure of himself. He wasn't comfortable with his situation, rather like the day Jack had met him and they had begun their crazy adventure.

_It's better this way,_ he assured himself again whilst unconsciously gripping the wheel, the wood biting into his fingers with his eyes still trained on the scene ahead. He had told himself the same thing so many times, but it never seemed to be true. It would take a long time for him to believe it.

He wished he had been there. He wished that the whole adventure hadn't happened but they were still together, still father and son despite all of the odds against them. Nine years before the fateful day they had met, Jack wished he had been there to cradle his new born baby son, to hear his first gasp of breath as he wailed for comfort. It would have been a hard road to travel down, but it would have been a proud one too. The warmth of new fatherhood would continue to elude him.

Whilst Jack was lost in the deepest throngs of his thoughts, he had failed to notice the guards rounding the corner of the dock's stone houses, each one most likely some cover up for lawless whorehouses. Powdered wigs sat atop ghastly white faces as they glanced at the innocent boy speaking, like he was someone they remembered from a long time ago.

Suddenly the boy laughed and dropped the crate in his hands, revealing a collection of the finely crafted swords that he quickly looped in his belt. That insufferably proud smile fell on Jack's face, his hands quick to pull the ship from its rocky hiding spot and his men quick to cheer.

On the dock, Sparrow Boy jumped on a small carcass of a boat that he had arrived on, complete with its own makeshift sail that he had crafted himself and a tiny chest he stole some time before.

"And you will forever remember this as the day you almost caught First Mate Jake Sparrow!"

With that the child was speeding off into the water. He met the Pearl far before the guards were in their own ship and clambered beside his father, who placed a proud hand on his shoulder as he called, "Hoist the sails! Aim the cannons! It's time we weren't here!" Sparrow Boy nuzzled briefly into his side when he spoke, if only because he was grinning so much at his first successful heist. Gibbs went wild with the thrill of the chase as he made certain every man was busy, hands filled with either rope or cannonball whilst the captain kept himself entertained.

"Let's get out of here Jakey," he whispered warmly to his son, who could only muster an eager grin for the excitement in his stomach.

When they had faced each other on the edge of that ravine, it looked as though that was the end of their journey. Not even a teardrop rolled down Sparrow Boy's cheek as he faced his father, watched him pull the empty gun up and hold out his hands, that look of defeat so obvious in his eyes. He had wanted so badly to be brave, but he couldn't hide the little shiver that ran up his spine.

"What be yer choice then, laddy?" asked Achilles as he drove that sharp barrel harder against his captive's temple. There was silence everywhere. The only thing Sparrow Boy could really feel was the bite of the gun and the ash that touched his cheek, with the whole world burning before him as his eyes stayed trained, watching his father's face for any hint of a fight.

"I'm sorry lad," he had said with that twitch of his beard, his hands extended to reveal the pistol in them, "It's got to be done."

And he had thrown the gun so hard that Achilles had no choice but to dodge. His laughter was interrupted by a swift kick to the shin, Sparrow Boy's hands on the ground as he extended his hind legs to deliver said assault and pelt forward, arms enveloping him that were much warmer than the cackle of the pirate. He didn't watch to see Achilles slip on one of the looser rocks behind him, which sent him careering down the jagged side of the ravine and into the raging white waters below. It was enough to hear his cries. It was enough to feel Jack's comforting arms around him and brush up against the familiar beard, to feel his heart beating as he pressed his face against the heaving chest.

Tears had poured like a waterfall from his eyes, "Don't let me go…please don't let me go."

"Shhh Jakey," he comforted, a hand tangling in the dreadlocked hair whilst his arm stayed heavy on the boy's shoulder, "It's alright now. It'll be alright now." His eyes were still locked on the place Achilles had fallen, as though he would rise up and shatter the fiery peace they created, make the flames around them burn hotter until they were lost.

Jack placed his hand on Jake's shoulder again, a smile on his face when he glanced down at the eager little boy beside him. It had been a wild ride – it wouldn't be forgotten by Elizabeth or her son, who had returned to Port Royal to begin rebuilding, their man of the house lost to the seas until he was allowed to resurface, their hearts warm when they had heard of the pair's daring escape.

But such as all great journeys, it had to come to an end. And what an end to come to, with father and son reunited and the Black Pearl in rightful hands, the only thing they had to worry about Barbosa and his crew of lofty vagabonds. Perhaps they would run into more trouble along their way? Perhaps Sparrow Boy would find that he was discontented with pirate life and instead settle down, seeing his father once every year in some sort of ironical agreement? The future wasn't theirs to know; it was just theirs to experience, theirs to take and shape together, always together.

And so they faced the sunset with the guards following them sharply, their crew wild on the deck to make sure they didn't go to prison; father and son, man and boy, captain and first mate.

Jack and Jake Sparrow, with the past behind them.


End file.
